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, 32 * March 7th, 1893. Price, 25 

The Popular Series 

Issued Monthly. 



CRIS ROCK 

BY GAPT. MAYNE REID 

Author of ‘‘The Scalp Hunters,” etc. 


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CRIS ROCK 


Nod el. 


BY 

CAPT. MAYNE REID, 

Author of ^^The Scalp Hunters f'' etc. 





ROliERT BONNER’S SONS, 

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{All rights reserved.) 



PUBLISHERS’ NOTICE. 

- -M- 

It may be doubted whether any writer for boys has | 
written more valuable and instructive fiction than has . 
Captain Mayne Reid, of whom Dr. Livingstone, the 
African explorer, once said : “ His books are of the 
kind to turn boys into travellers.” “ Chris Rock,” one 
of Captain Reid’s most meritorious stories, is a tale of 
perils, captivities, and escapes, with Mexico and the 
Gulf coast for its scene. Effective use is made of a ro- 
mantic and historic tropical setting. The adventures of' 
the hero in the mountainous heart of the Mexican 
republic are of a peculiarly strange and absorbing 
nature. 





CRIS ROCK 


CHAPTER I. 

VOLUNTEERS FOR TEXAS. 


“I’ll go !” 

This short speech issued from the lips of a young 
man who was walking along the levee of New Orleans. 
Just before giving utterance to it he had come to a 
sudden stop, facing a dead wall, that was enlivened, 
however, by a large poster on which were printed, in 
conspicuous letters, the words : 

“volunteers for Texas!" 

Underneath, in smaller type, was a proclamation, 
setting forth the treachery of Santa Anna and the 
whole Mexican nation, recalling in strong terms the 
massacre of Fanning, with the butchery of the Alamo, 


8 


VOLUNTEERS FOR TEXAS. 


and other like atrocities, and ending in an appeal to 
all patriots and lovers of freedom to arm, take the 
field, and fight against the tyrant of Mexico and his 
myrmidons. 

“ I’ll go !” said the young man at the first glance 
given to the printed document ; and then, after a 
quick reading of it, he repeated the words with an em- 
phasis that told of his being in earnest. 

The poster contained intimation of a meeting to 
be held that same night at a certain “rendezvous” in 
Poydras street. 

The young man only lingered to make a note of 
the address, which was the name of a noted cafe. 
Having done this, he was turning to continue his 
walk, when his path was barred by a specimen of 
humanity that stood full six feet six in a pair of alli- 
gator-leather boots, 

“ So ye’re goin’, air ye ?” was the half interrogative 
speech that proceeded from the individual thus con- 
fronting him. 

“ What’s that to you ?” bluntly demanded the young 
fellow, his temper a little ruffled by what appeared an 
impertinent obstruction on the part of a huge, swagger- 
ing bully. 


VOLUNTEERS FOR TEXAS. 


9 


“ More’n you may think for, young un,” answered 
the booted colossus, still standing square in the way — 
“ more’n ye may think for, seein’ it’s through me that 
ere bit o’ paper’s been put on that ere wall.” 

“You’re a bill-sticker, I suppose?” sneeringly 
retorted the “ young un.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ha !” laughed the giant, with a cachin- 
nation that resembled the neighing of a horse. “ A 
bill-sticker ! Wal, I likes that. An’ I likes yur grit, 
too, young fellur, for all ye are so sassy wi’ me. But 
ye needn’t git riled, an’ I reckin’ ye won’t, when I tell 
ye who I im.” 

“ Who are you ?” 

“ Maybe ye mout a heern o’ Cris Rock ?” 

“What? Cris Rock of Texas? He who at Fann- 
ing’s—” 

“At Fannin’s masacree was shot dead an’ kim alive 
agin.” 

“Yes,” said the young man, whose interrogatory 
referred to the almost miraculous escape of one of the 
betrayed victims of the Goliad massacre. 

“Jess so, young fellow. An’ since ye ’pear to know 
somethin’ ’bout me I needn’t tell ye I aint no bill- 
sticker, nor why I showed the impartinence to put in 


10 


VOLUNTEERS FOR TEXAS. 


my jaw to ye, when I heern ye say ‘ 1 11 go.’ I thort it 
wouldn’t need much introduxshun to one as I mout 
soon hope to call kumarade. Yer cornin’ to the rendy- 
voo to-night, aint ye?” 

“ I intended doing so.” 

“ Wal I’ll be thar myself ; an’ if ye’ll only look high 
enough I reck’n’ ye kin sight me. I aint the shortest 
in a crowd,” he added, with a smile that bespoke 
pride in his superior stature. ‘'Tho’ ye’ll see some 
tall uns too ’mong them as’ll be thar. Anyhow, ye 
look out for Cris Rock, an’ when foun’ that chile mout 
be o’ some sarvice to ye.” 

“ I shall do so,” said the young man, whose good 
temper was now quite restored. 

The Texan, to bid good-by, held out a hand as 
broad as the blade of a canoe paddle. It was freely 
taken by the stranger, who, while shaking it, felt that 
he was being examined from head to foot. 

“ Look hyar,” said the colossus, as if struck by 
some thought which a closer scrutiny of the young 
man’s person had suggested. “ Hev ye ever did any 
sogerin’ ? Ye’ve got the look o’ it.” 

“I was educated in a military school — that’s all.” 

“ Whar ? In the States ?” 


VOLUNTEERS FOR TEXAS. 


11 


“No. I am from the other side of the Atlantic.” 

“Oh ! a European. It don’t make no difference in 
Texas. English, I kalkerlate ?” 

“No,” promptly responded the young man, with a 
slight scornful curling of the lip. “ I’m an Irishman, 
and not one of those who deny it !” 

All the better for that. There’s a bit o’ the same 
blood somewhere in my own veins, out 6’ a grand- 
mither, I b’lieve, as kim over the mountains into Kain- 
tuck ’long wi’ Dan Boone an’ his lot. So ye’ve been 
eddycated at a milintary school. D’ye unnerstan’ 
trainin’ ?” 

“ Certainly I do.” 

“ Dog-gone me, if ye aint the man we want ! How 
would you like to be a officer ? I reck’n ye’re the best 
fit for that.” 

“ Of course I should like it ; but being a stranger 
here, I shouldn’t stand much chance. You elect your 
officers, don’t you ?” 

“We elect ’em ; an’ we’re agoin’ to elect some o’ 
’em this very night. Lookee hyar, young fellur, I like 
yer looks, an’ I’ve seed proof ye’ve got the grit in ye. 
Now I want to tell ye somethin’. I belong to a com- 
pany that’s jest formin’, and thar’s a fellur settin’ his- 


12 


VOLUNTEERS FOR TEXAS. 


self up to be its capting. He’s a sort o’ half Spanish, 
half French Creole, o’ Noo Orleans hyar, an’ we old 
Texans don’t think too much o’ him. But then thar’s 
only a few o’ us, w'hile many o’ these Orleens city fel- 
lurs as are goin’ out wi’ us hez got into a big popilarity 
by standin’ no eend o’ drinks. He aint a bad lookin’ sort 
for sogerin’, an’ hez seed milintary sarvice, they say. 
F’r all that thar’s a hang-dog glint ’bout his eyes this 
chile don’t like ; neyther do some o’ the others. So, 
young un, ef you’ll kum down to the rendyvoo in 
good time, an make a speech — you can speechify, 
can’t ye ?” 

“Oh, I suppose I could say something.” 

“ Wal, you stump it, an’ I’ll put in a word or two 
an’ then we’ll propose ye for capting, an’ who knows 
we mayent git the the majority arter all? You’re 
willin’ to try, aint ye ?” 

“Quite willing,” answered the young Irishman 
with an emphasis that showed how much the proposal 
was to his mind. “ But why, Mr. Rock, are you not a 
candidate yourself? You have seen service, and 
and would make a good captain, I should say.” 

“ Me kandydate for capting ! Wal, I’m tall enough, 
thet’s true. But I haint no ambeetion thet way, 


VOLUKTEEKS FOR TEXAS. 


13 


Besides, this chile knows nuthin’ ’bout drill ; an’ thet’s 
what’s wanted bad. Ye see, we haint had had much 
reg'Jar sogerin’ in Texas. Thar’s whar the Mexikins 
hev the advantage o’ us, an’ thar’s whar you’ll hev it 
if you’ll Stan’. You say you will ?” 

“ I will, if you wish it.” 

“ All square, then,” said the Texan, once more tak- 
ing his protege by the hand and giving it a squeeze 
like the grip of a grizzly bear. “ I’ll be on the look- 
out for ye. Meanwhile, thar’s yit six hours to the 
good afore sundown. So you go purpar’ your speech, 
while I slide roun’ among our fellurs, an’ do a leetle 
for ye in the line o’ canvassin’.” 

After a final bruin-like pressure of the hand, the 
giant had commenced striding away, when he came to 
again, with a loud “ Hillow !” 

‘‘What is it?” inquired the young Irishman. 

“ Seems that Cris Rock air ’bout one o’ the biggest 
nummerskulls in all Noo Orleens. Only think it ! I 
war startin to take the stump for a kandydate ’ithout 
knowin’ the first letter o’ his name. How war ye cris- 
sened, young fellur ?” 

“ Kearney— Florence Kearney.!” 

“ Florence, ye say ? Ain’t that a girl’s name ?” 


14 : 


VOLUNTEERS FOR TEXAS. 


“ True ; but in Ireland'many men bear it.” 

“ Wal, it do seem a little kewrious, but it’ll do 
right slick, an’ the Kearney part soun’s well.’ I’ve 
heern speak o’ a Kate Kearney ; thar’s a song ’bout 
the girl. Mout ye be any connexshun o’ hern ?” 

“No, Mr. Rock ; not that I’m aware of. She was 
a Killarney woman. I was brought up a little farther 
north on the green island.” 

“ Wal ; no matter what part o’ ’t, yur all welkim 
to Texas, I reckin, or the States ayther. Kearney ; I 
like the name. It hev a good soun’, an’ it’ll soun’ a 
bit better wi’ ‘ Capting ’ for a handle to ’t — the which 
it shall hev afore ten o’clock this night, if Cris Rock 
aint astray in his reck’nin’. Now, young un, see as 
ye kum early to the rendyvoo, so as t’ hev time for a 
talk wi’ the boys. Thar’s something in that ; an’ if 
ye’ve got a ten-dollar bill to spare, spend it on drinks 
all roun’. Thar’s a good deal in that, too.” 

So saying, the Texan strode off, leaving Florence 
Kearney to reflect upon the counsel so opportunely 


given. 


A LADY IN THE CASE. 


15 


CHAPTER ir. 

A LADY IN THE CASE. 

Who was Florence Kearney? And what was his 
motive for becoming a “filibuster?” The reader shall 
be told without much tediousness of details. 

Some six months before the encounter described, 
he had landed from a Liverpool cotton ship on the 
levee of New Orleans. A gentleman by birth and a 
soldier-scholar by education, he had come to the New 
World with the design to complete his boyhood's 
training by a course of travel, and prepare himself for 
enacting the part of a man. That this travel should 
be westward, over fresh, untrodden fields, instead of 
the hackneyed track of the European tourist, was 
partly due to the counsels of a tutor who had himself 
visited the New World, and partly to his own in- 
clinations. 

In the course of his college studies he had read the 
romantic history of Cortez’ conquest, until his mind 
had become deeply imbued with the picturesqueness 


16 


A LADY IN THE CASE. 


of Mexican scenes ; and among the dreams of his 
juventate one of the pleasantest was the thought of 
one day visiting the land of Anahuac, and the ancient 
capital, Tenochtitlan. After leaving college the dream 
had grown into a determination, and was now in the 
act of being realized. In New Orleans he was so far 
on his way. He had come thither expecting to get 
passage in a coasting vessel for some seaport in Mex- 
ico — Tampico or Vera Cruz. 

Why he had not at once continued his travels was 
not due to any difficulty in obtaining this passage. 
There were schooners sailing every week that would 
have accommodated him, but still he lingered in New 
Orleans. The cause of his lingering was one far from 
uncommon : It was a lady, with whom he had fallen 
madly in love. 

At first his detention had been due to a more sensi- 
ble cause. Not speaking the Spanish language, which 
is also that of Mexico, he knew that while travelling 
throughAhe latter country he would have to go as one 
dumb. He had heard that in New Orleans he might 
easily obtain a teacher. He sought and found one in 
the person of Don Ignacio Valverde, a refugee Mexican 
gentleman, a victim of the tyrant Santa Anna, who, 


A LADY IN THE CASE. 


17 


banished from his country, had been for several years 
resident in New Orleans — as an exile. And an exile in 
straitened circumstances — perhaps the hardest condi- 
tion of life. Once in his own country a wealthy land 
owner, he was now compelled to give lessons in the 
Spanish language to such stray p’upils as might chance 
to present themselves ; and among the rest, by chance, 
cam'e Florence Kearney, to whom he taught it. 

And while the young Irishman was learning the 
Andalusian tougue he also learned to love one who 
spoke it more sweetly than his teacher. This was his 
teacher’s daughter. 

The young Irishman advanced along the levee, his 
head now bowed forward, with eyes to the ground, as 
if examining the empty bivalves that bestrewed the 
path ; anon giving his glance to the river, as though 
suddenly stirred by its majestic movement. But he 
was thinking neither of the shelled pavement, nor the 
flow of the mighty stream, nor yet of the speech to be 
delivered that night at the rendezvous of filibusters ; 
but of a tumult of the heart, from which he had been 
for some time suffering. 

To make known his situation to the reader, it is 


18 


A LADY IN THE CASE. 


necessary to repeat what passed through his thoughts, 
after parting with Cris Rock, 

“ There’s something odd in all this,” soliloquized 
he, as he stood looking after the Texan, now rapidly 
striding off along the levee. “ Here am I going to 
fight for a country I care nothing at all about, and 
against one with which I have no cause of quarrel. 
On the contrary, I have come four thousand miles to 
visit it, as a peaceful and friendly traveller ; and now 
I propose to enter it, sword in hand, as an enemy ! 
The native land, too, of her who has hold of my heart ! 
Ah ! therein lies the very reason : I have not hold of 
hers. I fear — I feel — I am certain of it — certain from 
what I saw this morning. Bah ! what’s the use think- 
ing about it, or about her? Luisa Valverde cares no 
more about me than the score of others — these young 
Creole bloods, as they are called, who flit like bees and 
butterflies around her. She’s a sweet flower from 
which all of them wish to sip. Only one will succeed, 
and that’s Santander. I hate the very sight of the 
man. I believe him to be a cheat and a scoundrel. 
No matter to her. The cheat she won’t understand ; 
and the scound’rel would scarce disqualify him in the 
eyes of a woman, much less one of her race. Merci- 


A LADY IN THE CASE. 


19 


ful Heavens ! to think I should love this Mexican girl, 
warned as I’ve been about the coquetry of her coun- 
trywomen ! 

“ ’Tis a fatal fascination, and the sooner I get away 
from her presence the better my chance of escaping 
the peril. It will be a sort of satisfaction to think that 
in fighting against her country I may in some way 
humiliate her. Texas ! if you should find in me a 
defender, it will not be from any purity of patriotism, 
but solely to seek oblivion frofii bitter thoughts. 

“ Is there not something ominous in my meeting 
this Texan giant?” continued he, after a break in the 
train of his reflections. “ Destiny seems to direct me. 
Here am I scheming to escape from the thraldom of a 
siren’s smile, and, to do so, ready to throw myself into 
the ranks of a filibustering band ! On the instant a 
friend is found — a patron — who promises to make me 
a leader ! Shall I refuse the favor. 

“ Why should I ? It is fate, not chance, seems to 
offer it ; and this night, at their rendezvous, shall I 
know whether fate means the offer in earnest. Can- 
vass your best, Cris Rock ; and I shall do my best at 
making a speech. If our united efforts prove success- 


20 


A LADY IN THE CASE. 


ful, then Texas shall gain a sword, and Luisa Val- 
verde lose a lover.’' 

At the conclusion of this soliloquy — half boastful, 
half bitter — the young Irishman walked away from 
the spot where he had parted with the Texan, and 
went slowly sauntering along the levee. 


OFFICEKING THE FILIBUbTEKri. 2i 


CHAPTER III. 

OFFICERING THE FILIBUSTERS. 

It was in a tavern, then known by the name of 
‘‘ Coffee House,” in the street called Poydras. The 
room for the time chartered by the filibusters was a 
large one, capable of containing three hundred men, 
drawn together by the printed proclamation that had 
stopped Florence Kearney on his morning stroll, two- 
thirds of this number had come together ; and of 
these, two-thirds were determined upon going to 
Texas. 

It was a crowd composed of heterogeneous ele- 
ments — such as ever have been, and ever will be, the 
men who volunteer upon a military — more especially 
upon a filibustering — expedition. 

Among them were representatives of almost every 
civilized nation upon earth. Even some that could 
scarce boast of having seen much of civilization ; for, 
among the faces seen around the room were many 
covered with beard and bronze that told of long asso- 
ciation with the savage. 


22 


OFFICERING THE FILIBUSTERS. 


In obedience to the counsels of the Texan, Florence 
Kearney — a candidate for command over this motley 
crowd — made early appearance in their midst. Not 
so early as to find that, on entering the room, he was 
a stranger to its occupants. Cris Rock had been 
there before him, along with a half score of his con- 
freres — old Texans of the true grit, who, having 
taken a part in most of the struggles of the young 
republic, had strayed back to New Orleans, partly for 
a spree, and partly to recruit fresh comrades to assist 
them in propagating that principle which had first 
carried them to Texas — the “Monroe Doctrine.” 

To these the young Irishman was at once confiden- 
tially introduced, and stood drinks freely. He would 
have done this without care of what was to come of it, 
since it was but the custom of his kind and his nation. 
Nor would it of itself have given him any great advan- 
tage ; for, not long after entering the room, he dis- 
covered that not only drinks, but dollars, were freely 
distributed by the opposition party, who seemed earn- 
estly bent upon making a captain of their candidate. 

As yet Kearney had not looked upon his com- 
petitor, and was even ignorant of his name. In a short 
time it was communicated to him, just as the man 


OFFICERING THE FILIBUSTERS. 


23 


himself, escorted by a number of friends, made his 
appearance in the room. The surprise of the young 
Irishman may be imagined when he saw before him 
one already known, and deeply detested : his rival for 
the affections of Luisa Valverde ! 

Yes ; Carlos Santander was the candidate of the 
opposition. 

To Kearney it was a double surprise. He knew 
Santander to be on terms of very friendly and intimate 
relationship not only with Don Ignacio, but other 
Mexicans he had met at the exile’s house. Strange 
that the Creole should be aspiring to the leadership of 
a filibustering band about to invade their country— for 
it was invasion the Texans now talked of, in retalia- 
tion for the late raid of Woll to San Antonio. But 
these Mexicans being refugees, and enemies of Santa 
Anna, it was not so unnatural. By humiliating the 
dictator they would be aiding their own fallen party 
to get back into power — even though the help came 
from their natural enemies, the Texans. These rea- 
sons came before the mind of the young Irishman, 
though not quite to satisfy him. He still continued to 
think the thing a little strange. 

But he had no opportunity for indulging in con- 


24 


OFFICERING THE FILIBUSTERS. 


jectures — only to exchange a frown with his rival, 
when a man in an undress uniform — a Texan colonel 
— who acted as chairman of the meeting, mounting 
upon a table, called, “ Silence !” and after a short, 
pithy speech proposed that the election of the officers 
should at once take place. The proposal was 
seconded, no one objecting, and without further 
parley the polling began. 

There was neither noise nor confusion. Indeed 
the assembly was one of the quietest, and without any 
street crowd outside. There was reason for observ- 
ing a certain secrecy in the proceedings ; for although 
the movement was highly popular all over the city, 
there were some compromising international points, 
and there had been talk of government interference. 

The election was by ballot, in the most primitive 
and simple fashion. The names of the candidates 
were written upon slips of paper and distributed 
throughout the room — only the members who had 
formed the organization having the right to vote. 
Each of them chose the slip bearing the name of him 
he intended to vote for, and dropped it into a hat 
carried round for the purpose The other he threw 
away or slipped into his pocket. When all had 


OFFICERING THE FILIBUSTERS. 


25 


deposited their votes the hat was capsized, and the 
bits of paper shaken out upon a table. The chair- 
man, assisted by two other men, examined the ballots, 
and counted them. There was then a short interval 
of silence, broken only by an occasional word of 
direction from the chairman and the murmuring hum 
of the examiners, and then came tne announcement 
in a clear, loud voice — that of the Texan colonel — “ In 
favor of Kearney ! Florence Kearney elected captain 
by a majority of thirty-three votes.” 

A cheer greeted the decision, in which the voice of 
Cris Rock could be heard loud above all others ; while 
the giant himself was seen rushing through the crowd 
to clasp the hand of his protege, whom he had volun- 
tarily elevated to a rank over himself. 

During the excitement, the defeated candidate was 
observed to skulk out of the room. Those who saw 
him go could tell by his sullen look of disappointment 
that he had no intention of returning, and that the fili- 
bustering cohort would not have the name of Sant- 
ander any longer on its roll-call. 

He and his were soon forgotten, for the lieutenants 
were yet to be elected. One after another — first. 


20 


OFFICERING THE FILIBUSTERS. 


second and brevet — were proposed, balloted for, and 
chosen, in the same way as was the captain. 

And then there was a choice of sergeants and cor- 
porals, and the organization was pronounced complete 
Then came congratulations, and drinks all round, and 
for several successive rounds. And there were patri- 
otic speeches in the true spread-eagle style, and ap- 
plauding cheers, with jokes about Santa Anna and his 
cork leg, and the company at length separated after 
singing the Star Spangled Banner. 


AN INVITATION TO SUPPEK. 


27 


CHAPTER IV. 

AN INVITATION TO SUPPER. 

Florence Kearney, parting from his new friends, 
. sauntered out into the street. 

On reaching the nearest corner he came to a stop, 
as if undecided which way to turn. 

It was not that he had lost his way. His hotel — 
the St. Charles — was but three blocks off ; and he had, 
during his six months’ sojourn in the Crescent City, 
become acquainted with almost every street. It was 
not ignorance of his locality which was causing him to 
hesitate, but something very different, as the train of 
his thoughts will tell. 

“Don Ignacio at least will expect me — wish me to 
come, whether she do or not. I accepted his invita- 
tion, and cannot well — ah ! had I known what I do 
now — seen what I saw this morning — Bah ! I shall go 
back to my hotel and never more go near them !” 

He did not go back to his hotel, but still stood 
irresolute — considering. 


28 


AN INVITATION TO SUPPEK. 


What was causing him to do so ? Simply the 
belief that Luisa Valverde did not love him, and, 
therefore, would not care to have him as a companion 
at supper, for to this had her father invited him. It 
was on the day before that he had received the invita- 
tion and accepted it. What had he seen on that 
morning to make him repent the acceptance ? A man 
standing beside the woman he loved, bending over her 
till his lips almost touched her forehead, whispering 
words to her that were apparently heeded. He had 
seen this and nothing more. He had not heard the 
words and knew not their nature ; but he too easily 
guessed it from the situation and the circumstances 
antecedent. 

He had no right to call Luisa Valverde to an 
account. During all his intercourse with her father 
he had seen her scarce half-a-dozen times ; and then 
only while passing out and in, to or from his lessons. 
Now and then a few words of conversation upon any 
chance theme — the weather — the study of the Spanish 
language — how he wished she had been his teacher — 
the peculiarities of New Orleans life, to which they 
were both strangers, and other like topics. Only once 
had she seemed more than ordinarily interested in his 


AN INVITATION TO SUPPER. 


29 


speech. It was when he talked of Mexico — of his 
having come from his own far land solely for the sake 
of visiting it — of his intention soon to go there in con- 
tinuance of his design — saying that he had heard 
about Mexican banditti, but more of the beauty of the 
Mexican ladies ; and naively, or perhaps adroitly, 
wondering whether he would not be in less danger ol 
losing his life than his heart. 

Only on that occasion had she seemed to listen 
with peculiar attention to what he said, even looking 
pensive as she made reply : 

“Yes, Don Florencio, you will see much in Mexico 
that will no doubt give you gratification ; and it is 
true what you have heard, that many of my country- 
women are fair — some very fair. Among them you 
will soon forget — ” 

Kearney’s heart beat wildly, hoping he would hear 
the wor^ “me.” But the monosyllable was not used. 
In its place only the phrase, “us poor exiles,” with 
which somewhat commonplace expression the young 
lady concluded her speech. 

And still there was something in what she had said, 
or rather in her manner of saying it, that had made a 
pleasant impression on his mind — something in her 


30 


AN INVITATION TO SUPPER. 


tone that touched a chord already making music in his 
heart. If it did not give him hope, it for the time 
hindered him from despairing. 

It was the last interview he had had with her ; and 
for days the sweet thought kept possession of his 
soul — now cheering him with hope, now torturing 
with doubt. But the doubt was the stronger. Luisa 
Valverde — the daughter of the exiled Mexican, known 
in his own land to be a gentleman of high rank — 
Luisa Valverde, the belle of many a ball — the talk 
and toast of many a young Creole “blood,” how 
could he, Florence Kearney, a stranger in his own 
eyes, a youth of modest pretence — how could he 
expect her to prefer him over so many splendid com- 
petitors — above all, over that one he had seen most 
reason to dread — Carlos Santander ! His hopes had 
been at best but slight, and only intermittent up to 
the morning of that day. Then had they ceased 
altogether, crushed out by a terrible spectacle. It 
was that already spoken of — a man stooping over 
Luisa Valverde and whispering in her ear words that 
seemed to find a response from her heart. That man 
was Santander. Kearney had seen this, himself 
'unseen. It had driven every pulsation of hope out 


AN INVITATION TO SUPPER. 


31 


of his heart, and sent him in wild, aimless strides 
along the levee — just in the right frame of mind for 
being caught by the call: “Volunteers for Texas,” 
So was he caught, and as described, became their cap- 
tain. 

It was a day of strange experiences, varying as 
the changes of a kaleidoscope ; more like to dreams 
than realities. At dawn, hopes soft as the dawn 
itself ; at ten o’clock, a spectacle producing the bit- 
terest despair ; at noon this partially checked or 
alleviated by what promised to counteract its fatal 
influence ; shortly after sunset, a triumph sufficient to 
thrill the most aspiring ambition of a youthful mind ; 
and now at night, once more upon the street — alone 
and again painfully reflecting ! 

Thus ran his reflections : 

“ Shall I see her again, or not ? Why not ? If 
siie’s lost, she cannot be worse lost by my going to 
take supper with her. Nor can I feel worse than I do 
now — even with a laurel of triumph fresh set upon 
my brow. What if I go and tell her of it — tell that 
I am about to enter her native land as an invader — a 
filibuster ! Ha ! I have a thought ! If she cares for 


32 


AN INVITATION TO SUPPER. 


me, that will not distress her. If not, then it may 
spite her. I shall go !” 

Quick as the words passed from his lips, he started 
along the street in the direction of the “ third munici- 
pality,” where dwelt most of the people who spoke 
the Spanish tongue. - 


A STUDIED insult. 


33 


CHAPTER V. 

A STUDIED INSULT. 

In a small wooden house in the street of Casa 
Calvo dwelt Don Ignacio Valverde and his daughter. 
It was a frame dwelling, built French Creole fashion, 
of one story, with casement windows opening on a 
front piazza, the latter nearly level with the street. 
Only one other individual occupied the. house along 
with them — their servant, a young girl of Mexican 
mestizo race, — that is, half Spanish, half Indian. The 
straitened circumstances of the exile forbade any more 
expensive establishment. 

The signs inside were not those of absolute pov- 
erty. The sitting-room, if small, was tastefully fur- 
nished. Besides other articles telling of refinement, a 
harp stood upon the floor, and a guitar lay on a crusolc 
table. 

The strings of both the daughter of Don Ignacio 
knew how to touch with the skill of a practiced player. 
On the same night on which the election for fili- 


34 


A STUDIED INSULT. 


bustering officers had been held, her father, alone with 
her in their little sitting-room, had asked her to play to 
him, as also to sing. She played and sang songs of 
their native land, that despite their banishment both 
still loved. It was not the land that was in fault in 
causing them such suffering, but the tyrant Santa 
Anna, who so grossly misgoverned it. 

On that night the mind of the young lady was not 
with her music. At intervals she sought the oppor- 
tunity, while her father became otherwise engaged, to 
steal out into the piazza, and glance through the trel- 
lised lattice -work that screened it from the street. 
She was evidently expecting some one to come that 
way. 

And one, at length, came. The tinkle of a little 
bell touched outside summoned Pepita, the little Mexi- 
can servant, to the door, and soon after a heavy foot- 
fall on the planking of the porch told of a man stepping 
upon the piazza. 

Oneof the hinged casements thrown open discovered 
outside a tall, well-proportioned figure with a face of 
olive complexion furnished with a becoming beard, and 
mustaches that curled up on each side of his nose. 


A STUDIED INSULT. 


S5 

Figure, face, beard, and mustaches, all belong to 
Don Carlos Santander. 

“ Pass in, Senor Don Carlos,” said the owner of the 
house, appearing at the. open casement, while the 
servant placed a chair for him. “Though we did not 
expect to have the honor of your company this evening, 
you are always welcome.” 

Notwithstanding this polite speech there was a 
certain hesitancy in the way it was spoken that showed 
insincerity in the speaker. It was evident that on 
that night at least the Creole was looked upon by Don 
Ignacio in the light of an intruder. 

And the evidence was still stronger on the counte- 
nance of Don Ignacio’s daughter. Instead of a smile 
to greet him, a quick glance of disappointment flashed 
forth from her large, liquid eyes as he made his 
appearance on the piazza. It could not be for' his 
coming she had repeatedly sought the piazza and looked 
through its lattice. 

To say the truth, both father and daughter seemed 
disturbed by his presence, as if both had been expect- 
ing some one else whom they did not desire him to 
meet. If Santander noticed any repugnance on the 
part of either host he showed no visible sign of it. 


36 


A STUDIED INSULT. 


Besides being handsome he was a man of many 
accomplishments, among others a power of concealing 
his thoughts under a vail of imperturbable coolness. 
Notwithstanding this, his demeanor on that night was 
different from its wont. He looked flurried and 
excited, his dark eyes flashing with some rage that 
had late passed, but whose sting still rankled in his 
bosom. Don Ignacio and his daughter both noticed 
it, but said nothing. The former seemed to fear him, 
and the latter perhaps a little ; but only on account of 
her father, over whom the Creole exercised some 
mysterious influence. Indeed there was not much 
mystery about it. Santander, though by birth an 
American — a native of New Orleans — was of Mexican 
parentage, and still considered himself a citizen of the 
country of his father. He was secretly supposed to 
hold a high place in the confidence of its dictator. 
He had declared as much to Valverde ; and for 
motives which may be easily guessed, he held out 
hopes of being able to effect for him terms of return 
to his native land, including a restoration of his 
estates. 'The exiled patriot, wearied with long waiting, 
had at length become willing to lend an ear to con- 


A STUDIED INSULT, 


37 


ditions that in other days he would have spurned as 
humiliating. 

It was to talk of this Santander had now presented 
himself, and Don Ignacio, suspecting it, gave his 
daughter a side look that told her she might leave the 
room. 

It was not desirable to either that the young lady 
should be present, though more than any other might 
she be affected by the conclusions to which they 
might come. 

She was only too glad to discover that she was not 
wanted. Just then she preferred being in the piazza ; 
and into it she silently glided, leaving her father 
alone with the guest who had intruded so inoppor- 
tunely. 

It is not necessary to repeat what passed between 
the two men. It was intended to bring to a conclusion 
a bargain that had been already talked over, though 
only in vague, general terms. It was to be an ex- 
change between the exile’s daughter and his confis- 
cated estates — the former to be given to Santander on 
condition of his obtaining permission for the exile to 
return to his native land, and a cancelling of the edict 
by which his estates had been confiscated. 


38 


A STUDIED INSULT. 


Of course there was some discussion of the terms 
and talk of a proviso affecting the consent of the 
lady ; on one side carried on with a haughty, bullying 
overbearance, on the other in submissive vacillation, 
alone due to the spirit of Don Ignacio being subdued 
by a prolonged and bitter banishment. 

But the bargain was not destined that night to 
reach a conclusion. 

Before any proposal was accepted, or promise 
given, the conference was interrupted by the tread of 
a booted foot, heard ascend'ing the steps and then 
sounding along the piazza. 

It was followed by an exchanged salutation, in 
which the voice of Don Ignacio’s daughter was heard 
answering to that of a man. 

To Don Ignacio it was no surprise. He knew who 
had come. But when the voice of Florence Kearney 
fell upon the ear of Santander, first in the exchanged 
salutations, and then apparently in a tone of trium- 
phant confidence, he could no longer keep his seat, 
but springing up, exclaimed : 

“That cur of an Irishman !“ 

“ Hish !’’ continued his host. “ The Senor Kearney 
will hear you.” 


A STUDIED INSULT. ' 


39 


“ I wish him to hear me. I repeat the expression, 
and plainly, in his own tongue. I say, dog of an Irish- 
man !” 

Outside was heard a short, sharp exclamation, as 
of a man startled by a sudden but powerful surprise, 
followed by some word of appeal spoken in a woman’s 
voice. Then the door was_ drawn open with a quick 
jerk, and two faces were seen turned toward the room. 
The one in front, and frowning, was the face of Flor- 
ence Kearney. A little in the rear was Luisa Val- 
verde, her countenance pale, no longer appealing. It 
was too late : she saw that a collision was inevitable. 
She made no movement to prevent it. She felt it 
would be in vain ; for the air was filled with the elec- 
tricitv of anger. 

Without waiting for a word from Don Ignacio, 
Kearney stepped across the casement sill and stood 
inside the room. The host, as his Creole guest, was 
now also on his feet, and, for a second or two, the 
three formed a strange triangular tableau — the Mexi- 
can with fear on his face, the Creole an expression o1^ 
insult, the young Irishman one of defiance. Still out- 
side on the piazza kept the young lady, with hands 


40 


A STUDIED INSULT, 


clasped across her bosom that rose and fell in quick 
but silent palpitation. 

Kearney broke the silence. His first words were 
addressed to Don Ignacio in a calm, dignified voice. 
They were an apology for having entered the apart- 
ment unbidden. 

“You are here by my invitation,” promptly 
returned his host. “ My house, sir, is at your disposi- 
tion.” 

“ Thanks,” said the young Irishman. “And now, 
sir,” he continued, turning to the Creole and confront- 
ing him with a look still perfectly tranquil, “ having 
made my apology, I require yours ” 

“For what?” asked Santander, counterfeiting 
ignorance. 

“For using language that belongs to the slums of 
New Orleans, where, I doubt not, you have been born 
and bred. Cur of a Creole, you must take back your 
words.” 

“ Never ! It is not my habit to take, but to give ; 
and I give this !” 

So saying, the Creole stepped close up to Kearney 
and spat straight in his face ! 

Kearney’s heart was on fire. His hand 


was 


A STUDIED INSULT. 


41 


already on the butt of a pistol, but glancing behind 
his eye fell upon a pale, appealing face ; with an effort 
he restrained himself, and said calmly to Santander : 

“ I hope you will favor me with your address. To- 
morrow I shall have occasion to write to you. If a 
scoundrel such as you can boast of having a friend, 
you may as well give him notice he will be needed. 
Your card, sir !”• 

“Take it !” hissed the Creole, flinging his card on 
the table ; and then glaring around the room, as if his 
glance would annihilate alj, he seized hold of his hat, 
bowed haughtily to Don Ignacio, looked daggers at 
Luisa, and strode forth into the darkness of the night, 

Santander had succeeded in his intent — a design 
long cherished — in making Kearney his challenger. 
It would give him the choice of weapons, insuring to 
him safety and success. Without certainty of this he 
would have been the last man to provoke a duel ; for, 
despite his warlike pretences and bold bearing, Carlos 
Santander was a coward. 


42 


WANTED, A FRIEND ! * 


CHAPTER VI. 

WANTED, A FRIEND. 

On the following morning, Florence Kearney 
started up from his couch under a strong impression 
of having something to do — even before eating break- 
fast. There was a card upon his dressing table that 
bore the name, “ Senor Carlos Santander.” It was a 
sufficient reminder. • 

Swallowing a cup of coffee brought in by one of 
the hotel waiters, he set about reflecting v.ffiat was the 
best course to be pursued. Of course he intended to 
fight ; but before taking the field there were some pre- 
liminaries required by the exigencies of the duello. 
A combat according.to the code calls for both prin- 
cipal and second. He was himself the former, but 
where was he to find the latter? A stranger in New 
Orleans, he had made but few acquaintances, and 
among them not one of such character as to be 
selected as the assistant in an affair of honor. What 
was he to do ? 

This interrogatory, or something close akin to it, 


WANTED, A FKIENdI 


43 


he had put to himself half a score of times, both before 
and after swallowing his coffee ; and each time with- 
out receiving anything that looked at all like a satis- 
factory answer. 

He lit a cigar, in the hope that the fumes of the 
nicotian weed would assist him in reflection. They 
did. Before he had blown a dozen puffs from the tip 
of the Havana his thoughts reverted to a scene of the 
night before — that which had transpired at the rendez- 
vous of the filibusters. They became concentrated on 
Cris Rock. Not that he considered the Texan giant 
the correct style of man to be his friend in an affair of 
this nature, but that he could probably help him with 
his counsel. And then he remembered the lieutenant 
who had been elected his “first,” — a dashing young 
Kentuckian who looked as if he could not only stand 
fire, but eat it. Cris had given him his own address, 
and could no doubt find the Kentuckian. 

New Orleans is comparatively but a small place, 
and it would not take long to get an answer to a 
message. 

He hastily scribbled a note, and ringing for one 
of the waiters, sent it to the Texan. 

While waiting for the return of his messenger 


44 


WANTED, A FEIEND ! 


more than one reflection passed through his mind ; in 
fact, a good many. Some were pleasant, others of a 
painful nature. Among the pleasant was an impres- 
sion he had brought away from a scene of the pre- 
ceding night — not that noisy one occurring at the 
rendezvous of the Texan filibusters — but in the quiet 
cottage of Don Ignacio Valverde, Nor had it been 
made during the tranquil time while he was eating 
that farewell supper, but in the excitement preceding 
it. 

If there be any time more than another when 
man may know woman’s heart — whether it beats for 
him or not — that time is when his courage becomes 
tested in her presence. 

Florence Kearney saw, or thought he saw, sympa- 
thy in the eyes of Luisa Valverde, with smiles of 
approval as to how he had borne himself ; and before 
taking his departure from the house he fancied him- 
self dear to her. There was not much demonstration 
on her part ; still there were pleasant words, and a 
slight hand-pressure at parting that had thrilled 
through his frame like a current of electricity. And 
along with this pressure was a glance of sadness, and 
some words of regret that he was so soon to leave 


WANTED, A friend! 


45 


New Orleans. He had told of his intention, and 
related some of the events of the evening. His 
triumph among the filibusters explained the appar- 
ently unprovoked hostility of Santander. But he 
knew it was not altoge-ther this ; and she, too, may 
have secretly ascribed it to a different cause. He 
believed that she did, and the belief gave him glad- 
ness. Up to that day he had been in doubt about 
her affections — or rather in despair ; for he believed 
them to have been bestowed upon Santander. It was 
a luxury of joy to think he had been mistaken. This 
was his pleasant reflection — and the only one. 

The painful were many ; and, foremost, the 
thought that he would now be compelled to part from 
her. The die had been cast. He was booked for a 
filibustering expedition — honored by having been 
chosen as its chief. He could not now retreat from 
the trust that had been so generously reposed in him. 
It would be sheer dishonor to abandon it. Even the 

4 

selfish lure of love was not strong enough to entice 
him to recreancy. He only thought of it to feel regret 
for having so rashly entered upon the enterprise. Had 
Luisa Valverde pressed his hand six hours sooner he 
would never have been elected a captain of Texan 


46 


WANTED, A FRIEND ! 


volunteers. A word, a touch, even a glance of the eye, 
often determines the destiny of men and of nations. 

While Florence Kearney paced his apartment, thus 
philosophically, and somewhat sadly, reflecting, his 
regrets were suddenly checked by a sound heard out- 
side the door of his room, which was closed. There 
was a footfall in the corridor that resembled the tramp 
of a rhinoceros, and along with it a voice that might 
have been compared to the bellowing of a buffalo bull. 

“ Whar is he ?” asked the voice, in a tone truly 
stentorian. 

Before any reply could be made, the young Irish- 
man had thrown open the door of his chamber, calling 
upon Gris Rock to come in. 

The giant was not alone. Along with him was the 
young Kentuckian — lately elected an officer of the 
Texan volunteers, as Gris let every one know by call- 
ing him “ lootenant,” — occasionally appending his 
name. 

This was Grittenden, a name proving him of best 
Kentucky blood, which was further evinced by his at 
once placing himself at the service of his newly-elected 
captain, as the bearer of a challenge to the defeated 
candidate. 


WANTED, A FRIEND ! 


47 


Before midday the terms were arranged between 
Crittenden and the second of Santander — the duel to 
take place at an early hour of the-following morning. 

There was need for this special promptness. On 
the evening after, the Texan volunteers were to take 
their departure for the land of the Lone Star, and for 
certain reasons of an international character they were 
to start at a late, lone hour of the night. 


48 


ALONG THE SHELL ROAD. 


CHAPTER VII. 

ALONG THE SHELL ROAD, 

The thick swamp fog still hovered above the house- 
tops of the Crescent City, when a carriage, drawn by 
two horses, rolled out through one of its suburbs 
adjoining the “swamp,” and on along the Shell Road, 
in the direction of Lake Pontchartain. 

There were two men upon the driver’s seat and 
three inside. Of these last one was Captain Florence 
Kearney, and another Lieutenant Crittenden. The 
third, by the cut and color of his dress, evidently 
belonged to a more peaceful profession than that 
lately taken up by his companions. In fact, the case 
of instruments carried upon his knees showed him to 
be that individual who usually makes a third in a duel 
— in others words, the doctor. He was a young 
surgeon, who, in this capacity, had attached himself to 
the Texan volunteers. 

Besides the mahogany box balanced upon his thigh, 
there was another lying on the spare bit of cushion be- 
side him, opposite to where Crittenden sat. It was of 


ALONG THE SHELL ROAD. 


49 


a slightly different shape, and no one who had ever 
seen a case of dueling pistols could mistake it for any- 
thing else. It was one. 

What could they be wanting with pistols, since it 
had been arranged that swords were to be the weapons, 
and when a pair of these were seen standing up in a 
corner of the carriage ? 

It was Kearney who put this question, he for the 
first time having noticed what seemed a superfluous 
armament. 

The question was asked of Crittenden, to whom 
the pistols belonged, as might have been learnt by 
looking at the initials on the indented plate of silver. 

“ Well,” answered the Kentuckian, “ I’m no great 
swordsman myself. I usually prefer pistols, and 
thought it might be as well to bring these along. I 
didn’t much like the look of your antagonist’s friend, 
and it’s got into my head that before leaving the 
ground all four of us may have to fight. If it come to 
that, I shall take to the barkers.” 

Kearney smiled, but said nothing more — feeling 
satisfied that in case of any treachery he had the right 
sort of man for his second. 

He might have felt further secure, in still other 


50 


ALONG THE SHELL KOAD. 


support, seen without the carriage on the box by the 
side of the driver. This was a man carrying a long 
rifle that stood straight up, its butt between his heav- 
ily booted legs. 

It was Cris Rock, who had insisted on coming 
along, as he said, to see that the fight was all “ fair and 
squar.” He too had conceived an unfavorable opin- 
ion of both the men to be met, from what he had seen 
of them at the rendezvous, for Santander’s second 
had also shown himself there. With the usual 
caution of one accustomed to fighting Mexicans and 
Comanches, the Texan always went more than half 
armed ; since-in addition to his rifle, he always went 
warned. 

On reaching a spot of open ground alongside of 
the road, and near the shore of the lake, the carriage 
stopped. It was the place of appointed meeting, as 
arranged on the preceding day by the seconds. 

Though their antagonists had not yet arrived, 
Kearney and Crittenden got out, leaving the doctor 
busied among his bandages and cutlery. 

“ I hope you won’t have to use them. Doctor,” re- 
marked the young Irishman, with a laugh, as he 
sprang across the drain that separated the road from 


ALONG THE SHELL ROAD. 


51 



the piece of open ground selected for the arena of the 
combat. 

Crittenden followed, carrying the swords, and the 
' trio took stand under a tree. 

; Rock remained on the box of the carriage, stifl 

' - seated by the side of the driver. As the field was all 
under his view and within range of his rifle, he knew 
that, like the doctor, he would be near enough if 
wanted. 

Ten minutes passed — part of the time in silence, 
and part in ominous thought. 

No matter how courageous a man may be — how- 
ever skilled in weapons, or accustomed to the deadly 
use of them — he cannot, at such a crisis, help having 
some pulsations'of painful thought — a tremor of the 
heart or conscience. He has come here to kill, or be 
killed ; and either prospect should be sufficient to dis- 
^ turb the coldest equanimity. At such times he who 
I has not natural courage had needs have a good cause 
as well as skill in the weapon to be used. Florence 
^ Kearney possessed all three ; and though it was his 

^ first appearance in the dueling field, he had no fear 

for the result. Even the still, sombre scene, with the 
E long white moss hanging down from the dark cypress 


52 


ALONG THE SHELL ROAD. 


trees like the drapery of a hearse, failed to inspire him 
with fear. If at times a slight tremor threatened, it 
was instantly checked by the thought of the insult he 
had received — and perhaps, also, a little by remem- 
brance of those dark, Spanish eyes that he fancied 
would flash proudly at his triumph, and weep bitterly 
over his discomfiture. This thought, if naught else, 
was enough to give him courage for the encounter. 

It was now near at hand, for the rumbling of wheels 
heard through the drooping festoonery of the trees 
proclaimed that a carriage was coming along the Shell 
Road. It could only be that containing the antago- 
nists. 

It was. In three minutes after, it stopped upon the 
road about twenty paces to the rear of the other. Two 
men got out, who, although shrouded in cloaks and 
looking colossal through the thick mist, could be 
recognized as Santander and his second. There ap- 
peared to be a third man, who, like the doctor, remained 
inside the carriage — himself, no doubt, a doctor, 
making the parties complete. 


TO THE SALUTE. 


53 


CHAPTER VIII. 

TO THE SALUTE. . 

The new-comers took off their cloaks, and tossed 
them back into the carriage ; then, turning toward 
the wet ditch, sprang across it. 

Santander leaped awkwardly, coming down upon 
the bank with a heavy tramp. He was a large, heavy 
man — unlike one possessing the activity to be a good 
swordsman. 

Kearney might have augured well from this appar- 
ent clumsiness on the part of his antagonist, but for 
what he had heard of him. He was well known 
among the Creoles of New Orleans as a dangerous 
adversary in a duel — having twice killed his man. 
His second, named Duperon, enjoyed a somewhat 
similar reputation, having been several times engaged 
in affairs that had resulted fatally. At that period 
New Orleans was emphatically the city of the duello 
— for this bad speciality perhaps the most noted city 
in the world. 




V 


54 


TO THE SALUTE. 


The young Irishman knew the sort of man he had 
to meet, and knowing it — besides its being his first 
time to attempt taking life — he might well be excused 
for having some uneasiness about the result. It was 
but slight ; not enough to show itself either in his looks 
or gestures. Confiding in his skill, proved in many an 
encounter with buttoned foils, supported, too, by a 
tried and courageous second, he felt nothing that could 
be called fear. And as his antagonist advanced 
towards the spot where he was standing, a glance at 
the handsome yet sinister face — a thought of Luisa 
Valverde, and the remembrance of the insult put upon 
him in her presence, restored his nerves to their 
wonted tranquillity and strength. The confident, 
almost swaggering air with which the Creole made his 
approach, instead of shaking them — the effect, no 
doubt, intended — only stiffened them like Bessemer 
steel. 

As Santander and his second advanced towards 
the centre of the inclo^ure, Crittenden, leaving his 
stand under the tree, stepped forth to meet them, 
Kearney following a pace or two behind. 

A sort of quadruple bow was all the salutation 


TO THE SALUTE. 


55 


made, when the principals stood apart, the seconds 
coming nearer and commencing the conference. 

A few preliminary words passed ; only a few were 
required ; the ground, the weapons, and the giving of 
the word had been all prearranged. 

There was no talk of apology — no thought of such 
a thing being either offered or accepted. Challenged 
and challenger both, by their looks, showed full 
determination to -fight. Duperon did not seem to 
care, and the Kentuckian was not the sort to seek 
peace when insult demanded war. 

After the preliminaries were fixed and agreed 
upon, the seconds again separated — each to assist his 
principal in stripping. 

The young Irishman simply took off his coat, turn- 
ing his shirt sleeves up to the elbow. 

The Creole, throwing off his coat, discovered a red 
flannel shirt, the sleeves of which he rolled up to the 
shoulder-blade, displaying a pair of strong, sinewy 
arms. 

All was done in silence, not a word passing on 
either side between second and principal. Everything 
was silent : the horses in their carriages, the drivers 
seated on the box, the doctors inside, the gigantic 


56 


TO THE SALUTE. 


Texan, looming doubly large through the still linger- 
ing mist — all kept silent as the tomb. And the fog 
drifting around, and the long, silvery Spanish mOss^ 
resembling funereal shrouds, hanging from the dark 
limbs of the cypresses — each seemed a pall spread 
over the scene. And the forms of the four men, mag- 
nified by the mist, and moving silently over the 
ground, presented a weird, ghost-like tableau, as if 
they had been demons preparing to do some deed of 
dark horror. 

In the midst of the tomb-like silence a voice broke 
in, coming down from the top of the tall cypress. Its 
strange, wild intonation was sufficient to startle and 
quail the stoutest heart. It was a shrill, long-contin- 
ued cachinnation that could be likened to nothing 
human, unless to the laughter of a maniac. 

It frightened no one there, for they well knew what 
it was. All of them had heard, and often before, the 
cry of the white-headed eagle. The young Irishman 
was least acquainted with it ; still he knew what it 
was. 

The sharp cackling ceased, but before its echoes 
had ended their reverberations through the trees, 
another sound, equally frightful, and far more lugu- 


brious, fell upon the ear. It was the whoo-whoo- 
whooa of the great Southern owl, that came from 
below, seeming like a groan from the dark depths of 
the forest in answer to the laugh of the eagle. 

This is a sound that in all countries, and through- 
out all, ages, has been superstitiously regarded as an 
omen of death. It might have dismayed the duelists 
had they been men of only ordinary courage. But 
neither seemed to be, for as the owl’s hooting ceased, 
with bared arms and rapiers upraised, they advanced 
upon one another, with but one look and one thought 
— to kill. 


58 


TO THE DEATH. 


CHAPTER IX. 

TO THE DEATH. 

For a moment the duelists stood confronting one 
another in the position of “Salute,” both hands aloft 
grasping their swords at hilt and point, the blades 
held horizontally above their heads. The seconds 
were duly in their places, each to the left hand of his 
principal and half a pace in advance. It was but a 
moment, waiting for the word. The challenger had 
the right to give it, and Crittenden was not the man 
to “keep the stage waiting.” 

“ Engage !” he pronounced, in a firm, clear voice, 
stepping a half pace forward, Duperon doing the 
same. The step was a precaution against foul play, 
sometimes, though not always, intended. In the ex- 
citement of such a moment, and under the impatience 
of angry passion, one or other of the principals may 
close too quick. It is the duty of the seconds to pre- 
vent it. 

On the word, both came “ to guard” with a col- 


TO THt; DEATH. 


59 


lision that struck sparks from the steel. It proved the 
hot anger of the adversaries ; had they been cooler 
they would have crossed swords quietly ; and when, 
the instant after, they came to ‘‘ tierce,” both appeared 
more collected, their blades keeping in contact, and 
gliding around each other as if they had become one. 
For nearly five minutes this cautious play continued 
without further sparks from the steel. Of these 
enough could be seen shooting from the eyes of the 
combatants. And then came a counter thrust, quickly 
followed by a counter parry, with no advantage to 
either. 

Long before this an observer skilled in sword exer- 
cise could have seen that Kearney was the better 
swordsman. In changing from carte to tierce, or re- 
versely, while the Creole bent his elbow, exposing his 
forearm to the point of his antagonist’s weapon, the 
young Irishman showed himself possessed of the 
power to keep a straight arm, doing the work with his 
wrist. 

It is a rare accomplishment among swordsmen — • 
when present, insuring success, other circumstances 
being equal. 

In Kearney’s case, it perhaps proved the saving of 


60 


TO THE DEATH. 


his life, since it seemed to be the sole object of his an- 
tagonist to thrust in upon him, regardless of his own 
guard. The long, straight point, from shoulder far 
outstretched, and never for an instant obliquely, pre- 
vented him. 

The Creole felt surprise — astonishment, something 
approaching fear ; and for the first time in his dueling 
experience, since it was the first time he had encoun- 
tered an adversary with a straight ar7n. From the 
way he played with the rapier, it was evident he cared 
but little for his guard, placing his sole dependence on 
the thrust. And it was just in his guard he found his 
adversary superior — beyond his expectation — beyond 
any one he had fought with before. 

But Florence Kearney had been taught tierce as well 
as carte, and knew how to practice it. In the first few 
passes he was prevented from trying it, owing to the 
impetuous thrusts of Santander keeping him all the 
time on guard. But as the sword-play proceeded, he 
discovered the weak points of his adversary, and with 
a well-directed thrust, sent his blade through the out- 
stretched arm, impaling it from wrist to elbow. 

A suppressed cry of triumph escaped the Ken- 


TO THE DEATH. 


61 


tuckian’s lips, while his looks, directed towards 
Duperon, seemed to ask : 

“ Are you satisfied ?” 

The qi^stion was then formally put. 

Duperon- looked at Santander, though without 
much show of interrogating him. It was evident he 
knew what the answer would be. 

la mort [To the death!] cried the Creole, 
with deadly resolution in his eyes. 

“To the death be it!” was the response of the 
young Irishman, now for the first time showing 
anger. And no wonder. He was fighting with a 
man determined on taking his life. 

There was a momentary pause, of which Sant- 
ander availed himself, hastily whipping a handker- 
chief around his wounded arm. 

It was a permission not strictly according to the 
code, but granted by his gallant antagonist. 

When the two closed and came to guard again, 
the seconds were no longer by their sides. At the 
words ‘Cz la ' they had immediately withdrawn 

— each to the rear of his principal — as is the rule in a 
duel to the death. Their role now was simply to look 
on, with no right of interference unless there should 


62 


TO THE DEATH. 


be foul play. But this could not occur. It was no 
longer a question of sword skill, or who drew first 
blood. In the words a la mort is conveyed a peculiar 
meaning — well known to duelists. It is a^ challenge 
that gives free license to kill — as you can. 

It was followed by silence, if possible more pro- 
found than before, while the attention of the specta- 
tors, in deep earnestness, seemed to redouble itself. 

For a time the only sound heard was a whirling of 
wings. The fog had drifted away, and several large 
black birds were seen circling in the air above, look- 
ing down with stretched necks, as if they, too, were 
interested in the spectacle passing d)elow. No doubt 
they were, for they were auriculated vultures, and 
saw, if they did not smell it, that blood was being 
spilt. 

And once more from the tree-tops came the mock- 
ing, maniac laughter of the eagle, and out of the dark 
depths, through long, shadowy arcades, the hootings 
of the owl. 

Disregarding these oniinous sounds, each a death- 
warning m itself, the combatants once more closed, 
crossing their sword-blades with a clash that fright- 
ened owi, eagle and vulture into silence. 


FOUL PLAY. 


63 


CHAPTER X. 

FOUL PLAY. 

Though the combat recommenced, on both sides, 
with increased anger, there was not much outward 
sign of it. On neither side was there any rash sword- 
play. If both had lost temper they still kept control 
of their weapons ; and their guiirds and points, 
though perhaps more quickly succeeding, were given 
with as much skill as ever. 

Again Kearney felt surprised at the rapidly 
repeated thrusts of his antagonist, keeping him all 
the time on the defensive ; while the Creole appeared 
equally discomforted by that far-stretching arm with 
an elbow never bent. Six inches more added to the 
length of his rapier blade, and in less than six seconds 
the Irishman would have had it in his heart or be- 
tween his ribs. 

Twice or three times its point touched him, pene- 
trating the flesh upon his breast and drawing blood, 
till his shirt bosom showed red almost as that of his 


6 : 1 : 


FOUL PLAY. 


antagonist. But blood was now nothing ; both 
were bedaubed with it. Even the grass over which 
they trampled looked as if the skies had been raining 
red. 

For over a quarter of an hour, the sanguinary 
struggle continued, without any marked advantage 
to either, though terrible to behold. The combat- 
ants themselves had become thus to look look upon. 
The shirt of the young Irishman, of fine white linen, 
showed butcher-like in its crimson blotching ; his 
hands, too, were ensanguined, grasping the hilt of 
his rapier — not with his own blood, but with that of 
his adversary’s that had run back along the blade. 
Still his face was unstained save by some thinly scat- 
tered drops dashed over it by the play of the sword- 
blades. 

Not so that of Santander. Bending too far for- 
ward to put in a point the Creole had given Kearney a 
chance, resulting to himself in a punctured cheek, the 
scar of which would be certain to disfigure him for 
life. 

It was this that brought the combat to an end, or, 
at all events, to its last concluding strokes. 

Santander was a man proud of his personal appear- 


FOUL PLAY. 


65 


ance, and, as already admitted, with reason. On 
receiving the thrust, and feeling his cheek laid open, 
he suddenly lost all command of himself, and with a 
fierce oath sprang towards his antagonist,’ seemingly 
regardless of the consequence. 

He succeeded in making a thrust, though not the 
one intended. He had aimed for his adversary’s 
heart, but, missing it, his blade passed through the 
buckle of Kearney’s braces, and for an instant was 
entangled in the tough leathern strap. 

Only for a second ; but this was all the skilled 
swordsman wanted. For the first time since the fight 
began his elbow was seen to bend. It was done to 
obtain room for a thrust, and the thrust was sent, to 
all appearance, home. 

Everyone on the ground expected to see Santander 
fall. The sword-blade should have passed through 
his body, splitting the heart in twain ; for it was a 
thrust sent direct and in full force from the shoulder. 
Instead, the point of the rapier did not appear to pene- 
trate — not even an inch. As it struck there was heard 
a sound like the chinking of coin in a purse, and 
almost simultaneously the snap of a breaking blade. 

And this it was. As seconds and spectators looked 


66 


FOUL PLAY. 


on, both alike surprised, they saw the young Irishman 
holding a half sword in his hand — the other half 
gleaming among the grass at his feet. 

Only a dastard would have taken advantage of the 
sinister mischance, as Santander did, or attempted to 
do. Quickly drawing back his blade, he brought it 
once more to tierce, and was rushing forward to thrust 
his now defenceless antagonist, when Crittenden, call- 
ing out, “foul play,” sprang forward to prevent him. 

The Kentuckian might have been too late, and in 
a moment more Florence Kearney would have been 
stretched lifeless along the sward, but that another 
saw foul play — one who had been suspecting it all 
along. The sword of Santander flying off, as if struck 
out of his grasp, his arm dropping down by his side, 
with a stream of blood pouring from the tips of his 
fingers, were things simultaneous with the crack of a 
rifle, a cloud of blue smoke puffing up over one of the 
carriages, and half-concealing a colossal figure seated 
on the box, from whom, quickly following, came the 
cry : 

“ Take that, darn ye, for a treetor an’ a coward ! 
Strip the skunk ! Fle’s got sumthin’ under his shirt ; 
I heerd the clink o’ it.” 


FOUL PLAY. 


67 


While giving tongue to this_strange talk, the giant 
had sprung down from the driver’s seat, and the next 
instant was seen emerging out of the smoke of his own 
shot, and coming at a 'run towards the spot occupied 
by the combatants. 

'\ 

In a dozen long strides he was in their tjjiidst ; and 
before either of the parties, both alike surprised, could 
interfere, he had caught Santander by the throat, and 
torn open the breast of his shirt. 

Underneath these was another shirt, not of flannel, 
not cotton, but steel ! ' 

Yes : there, sure enough, was a covering of chain 
armor incasing the chest of the duelist, as impenetra- 
ble to a sword thrust as a targe of solid iron ! 

Pen cannot describe the scene that succeeded. 

“ Shall we kill or duck him ?” shouted the indignant 
Texan. 

“Both !” responded the drivers of the two hackney 
carriages, who, seeing what had transpired, sprang 
simultaneously from their seats and came on into the 
meadow. 

“ Let’s duck him first, and then hang him arter- 
ward,” suggested the jehu whose vehicle had been 
chartered by the Texan. 


68 


FOUL PLAT. 


“Agreed!” was the response of the other young 
man. 

It came near being done. But the other parties 
were not vindictive. Cris Rock alone had to be re- 
strained from taking summary vengeance upon the 
duelist who had perpetrated such a deception. He 
would have drawn his bowie-knife and slaughtered 
him on the spot had he not been restrained by Crit- 
tenden. 

“ Mr. Rock, let the scoundrel go,” counseled the 
Kentuckian. “ If he’s got a spark of conscience left, 
it will punish him worse than either shooting or hang- 
ing.” 

“ Conscience !” scornfully answered the Texan. 
“ The skunk don’t know what it means. But you’re 
right, Lootenant Crittenden. I won’t pisen the blade 
o’ my bowie by stickin’ it into his cowardly karkidge.” 

“You, sir!” said Crittenden, turning suddenly 
towards Santander’s second. “ Have you got any- 
thing to say or do ? If you have. I’m ready for you.” 

“ Nothing,” answered the man, with a look of ludi- 
crous resignation. “ I must admit there’s been some- 
thing of a mistake, that’s given me as much surprise 


FOUL PLAY. 


69 


as it has you. I’m sorry, but my principal is alone 
responsible for it.” 

“ Take my advice, then,” whispered the Kentuc- 
kian. “ Get yourself and your principal off the ground, 
quick as possible. If you don’t, I shan’t answer for it 
that in less than ten minutes you’ll both be strung up 
by the neck to the branch of one of these cypresses. 
For Heaven’s sake, go quick !” 

The admonition did not need to be repeated. 
Neither the Creole nor his second waited for their 
carriage, the driver of which refused to take them 
back. Along the Shell Road they were compelled to 
return, Santander still weighted with his steel shirt. 
But this was only a feather compared with the dis- 
grace he might expect from the exposure. 


70 


RETUKNED FROM EXILE 


CHAPTER XL 

RETURNED FROM EXILE. 

The roofs of most Mexican houses are flat, with a 
parapet, three or four feet in height, running around 
them* This is for protection against falling off, as well 
as for privacy. It screens them against the gaze of per- 
sons passing along the street. Thus shielded, they 
become favorite places of retreat for the members of 
the family. Indeed, the roof may be deemed the 
pleasantest part of a Mexican dwelling, especially after 
the sun has got low down in the heavens, and the 
clear, pure sky of Anahuac arches over them like a 
concave hemisphere of stained glass. 

At such an hour, and from such point of view, 
the scene on all sides around the City of Mexico is 
one of wonderful attractiveness. It is a circular pan- 
orama, showing upon its field almost every object of 
interest known to the earth : vast green plains sur- 
rounding large sheets of water — placid lakes that re- 
flect the shadows of high, towering mountains whose 


RETURNED FROM EXILE. 


71 


summits terminate in snow— cultivated fields bristling 
with the grand maguey plant, its spinous leaves radi- 
ating in every direction — towers and their turrets — 
the domes and spires of churches — the more massive 
structures bf monastery or convent ; encircling all, as 
suitable frame for such a splendid picture, the grand 
Cordilleras of the Andes, their slopes darkly shadowed 
with forests of the long-leaved pine, their summits 
shining, in strange contrast, under a mantle of never- 
melting snow. 

Who could look up -to Popocatepec without feel- 
ing an inspiration of the soul ? or gaze upon Ixti- 
cihuatl, the white nun, recumbent upon her back, 
without being touched by the sublimity of the 
scene ? 

* 

And yet upon one of the housetops of Mexico — 
one of its most palatial residences — there stood a 
young lady whose thoughts were but little in unison 
with the scene. For her the snowy cone of Popoca- 
tepec had no attraction, and if she looked at the white 
nun, it may have been to reflect that she, too, might 
be happier wearing the vail and vestments of a con- 
vent. 

It was Luisa Valverde .who thus solemnly 


72 


RETURNED FROM EXILE. 


reflected. Her father returned from his long period 
of banishment, his estates restored, herself re-es- 
tablished as one of the reigning belles of the Mexi- 
can metropolis — all this, and yet she was not happy ! 

And why ? Because her heart was not ‘there. It 
had been- lost in the land where she had lived in 
exile. Neither was it now there; for he who had it 
in his keeping, like herself, had left that land, and she 
even knew not whether he still lived. She knew that 
Florence Kearney — for it was he who had her heart — 
had gone to Texas to fight against her own country. 
She had heard all about the issue of the ill-fated Mier 
expedition — of the gallant struggle made by the 
devoted band, and, also, the terrible havoc their ranks 
had sustained — of the after-march of the survivors as 
chained captives towards the City of Mexico — of the 
cruel treatment and tortures they endured on the 
long, toilsome journey — of their daring attempt at 
escape from their guards — its successful achievement 
— their sufferings among the mountains, compelling 
them to a second surrender — and, lastly, the vengeful 
decimation that succeeded their recapture — in short, 
everything that had happened to that noble band of 


RETURNED FROM EXILE. 


73 


filibusters in which Florence Kearney was a cap- 
tain. 

She had been in Mexico most of this time ; for it 
was shortly after the departure of the Texan volun- 
teers that her father had received his pardon, with 
permission to return. She had watched the expedi- 
tion through every step of its progress — had eagerly 
sought and collected all information that could be 
obtained about the Texan filibusters, as they were 
called, and with anxious thoughts had perused every 
list of the slain that had been published by the papers 
of Mexico. All her inquiries tended towards one 
object, and were made for the sake of one man — the 
only one belonging to the expedition whom she knew, 
and, of course, the only one she could care for. 

She had not succeeded in hearing anything of him. 
There was not even the mention of his name in any of 
the official reports, but these were scant and but little 
reliable. Now and then names had been given, and 
there was the list of those shot by decimation at 
Salado. 

Luisa Valverde’s heart throbbed apprehensively as 
she read it over. It was more tranquil after she had 
finished reading, and was assured that Florence Kear- 


74 


RETURNED FROM EXILE. 


ney was not one of the Seventeen who had been so 
cruelly executed. Still she was only tranquilized, not 
satisfied. He might have been among those who fell 
upon the streets and housetops of Mier, or those who 
succumbed to a still more horrible form of death 
among the mountains. 

The time had at length arrived when she would 
ascertain his fate to a certainty. The Mier prisoners, 
after months of weary marching, fatigued and foot- ' 
sore, had at length reached the capital of Mexico. 
Upon that very day had they been installed in one of 
its strongest prisons ; but on the moment of their ^ 
arrival she had sent a trusty messenger to make in- 1 
quiries and ascertain if among their number was one | 
named Florence Kearney. . > | 

It was time for this messenger to have reported ; 
and in the solitude of the housetop, with a heart full 
of anxious doubts and fears, she was now awaiting his ' 
return. J 

She stood by the front parapet, looking over into ^ 
the street. It was the street called Capuchinos, by 1 
which the messenger must come. Crowds of people 'm 
were passing to and fro along the footwalk on both J 


KETURNED FROM EXILE. 


75 


sides ; but among them was not the man she so eagerly 
expected. 

There was a step on the stone stairs behind her — 
some one coming up to the roof. She heard, without 
heeding it ; for it was light, and she knew it was 
not the footstep of a man. She did not even turn 
round till accosted by a voice soft and sweet as her 
own, and on turning, saw a face almost as fair as her 
own. 

There was no surprise. The new-comer was her 
cousin, Ysabel Almonte, at the time staying with her 
And yet, after regarding the latter for a moment 
Luisa Valverde did feel something of surprise. The 
face was that of a sparkling brunette, habitually 
wreathed with smiles, but now wearing an expression 
of sadness. 

“What is it, Ysabel?” she quickly inquired. “You 
have news that is not good ?” 

The answer was looked for with anxiety. She who 
put the question was thinking only of her own affairs, 
and Ysabel was the sharer of her secret. Had her 
messenger come back unobserved, and imparted some 
sinister tidings to her cousin, dreading to tell them 
directly to herself? If so, they were of death. 


76 


retuknp;:d from exile. 


It was a relief to her when Ysabel fell sobbing 
upon her breast, crying out as she did so : 

“ 111 news indeed ! O, Luisa — Luisita — they have 
taken Ruperto a prisoner !” 

“ Only that ?” muttered Luisa to herself. “ I wish 
that he, too, were a prisoner ; then there would still be 
hope.” 

The words were not intended for the ear of Ysabel ; 
and she heard only the last of them. 

‘‘There is a hope !” she exclaimed, suddenly rais- 
ing her head from the bosom on v/hich she had rested 
it. “ He shall be set free again, if I have to sacrifice 
my whole fortune — my life — in giving him his liberty. 
O, Luisa, you don’t know' how much I love Ruperto 
Rivas. Enough to die for him — at his side — aye, even 
by the garrote. You cannot understand a love like 
mine I” 

“ Can I not ?” answered her cousin, looking a little 
displeased. “You forget, Ysabel, how I have suffered 
for Florencio.” 

“ Pardon me, dearest Luisa. I scarcely know what 
I say. I’m so distressed about Ruperto. And, what 
makes it worse, they’ve taken him under the accusa- 
tion of being a robber! Pepita has been out upon 


RETURNED FROM EXILE. 


the streets and heard them say so. Only think of it ! 
my brave, beautiful Ruperto to be called a common 
robber! False, degenerate Mexicans! The purest 
patriot among them all is Don Ruperto.” 

“ Where and how was he taken ?” 

“ The night before last — in the village of San 
Augustin. I haven’t heard how — it’s Pepita who’s 
told me all ; she heard that some false friend had 
betrayed him to the soldiers of Santa Anna. He must 
have been betrayed, for my Ruperto is not the man to 
be — Ha ! look there along the street ! Jose ! He 
may be able to tell us more.” 

Luisa did look along the street, and saw the in- 
dividual thus indicated. She saw him with an eye 
that expressed a deeper interest in his approach than 
did that of her cousin ; for he was the messenger she 
had been so anxiously expecting. 

Jose was only a domestic in Don Ignacio’s estab- 
lishment, and but a young man, though a servant of 
old standing, loved and trusted. He was at the time 
acting as coachman, having charge of the carriages 
and horses. In two minutes after bein_g seen on the 
street he had ascended to the housetop and stood in 
the presence of the young ladies — both confronting 


78 . 


RETUliNKD FROM EXILE. 


him with questions that called for quick answers. 
Those put by his proper mistress were first replied to, 
though she heard little besides the response given to 
her first interrogatory. 

Florence Kearney was one of the Texan prisoners 
that had just been brought in. 

This was enough for all. He still lived, and there 
was a hope of saving him. She, too, would sacrifice 
fortune — even life — to set him free. The same senti- 
ment but the moment before expressed by her cousin 
was equally strong in her mind. She coul^ die for 
him — at, his side — even by the garrote. 

It w^as only after a time that she felt calm enough 
to listen to all the information Jose had collected dur- 
ing his absence. Nor was it much .beyond that 
already imparted. He had gone out to Tacubaya, 
where the Texans had been taken — most, not all of 
them. His inquiries had been attende4 with some 
difficulty, owing to the surliness of the soldier who 
still guarded the prisoners ; but Jose’s young mistress 
had prudently provided him with a purse, by which 
he had found a way to remove all obstacles and 
obtain the information sought for. It was, that two 
of the Texan captives, one a man of gigantic stature. 


RETURNED FROM EXILE. 


79 


and the other, who had been an officer in the expedi- 
tion, and whose name was Florence Kearney, had, 
before entering the City of Mexico, been separated 
from the rest, and taken, as it was believed, to the 
prison of the Acordada. 

“To the Acordada!” exclaimed Luisa Valverde, 
in a tone that told of some misgivings. “ O, mercy ! 
Separated from the rest and taken to the Acordada ?” 

Jose could not say why ; but even had he known 
the reason he would not have found time to tell it, 
unless in the hearing of two other individuals who, at 
that moment ascending the stone stairs, joined the 
ladies on the housetop. 


80 • A CAKD FOli THE STATE CAKKIAGE. 


CHAPTER XII. 

A CARD FOR THE STATE CARRIAGE. 

The two personages who had thus ill-timedly 
intruded, were both men — and men to whom neither 
of the young ladies would have thought of intrusting 
the secrets about which they had just been conversing. 
On the contrary, one of them was, above all others, the 
very individual from whom these secrets should be 
kept. 

The first who came up was an elderly gentleman, 
habited in a costume that proclaimed him of the 
diplomatic corps, and looking as if he had just left a 
council of the cabinet. 

This was in reality the case, and the gentleman so 
identified was no other than Don Ignacio Valverde, 
who had not only received restoration of his property, 
along with his civic rights, but was now holding a 
somewhat important office, of a ministerial kind, under 
the regime of the Provisional President. 

His companion, dressed in a splendid uniform that 
glittered with gold lace, and wearing a plumed chapeau 


A CARD FOR THE STATE CARRIAGE. 


81 


Upon his head — which of course he had taken off in the 
presence of the ladies — was a younger man, and, as his 
uniform showed, a military officer. Certain insignia 
in the way of shoulder-straps and buttons further told 
him to be of the staff, and scill other indications 
declared it the staff of the Commanding General of 
the Mexican Army — in other words, the staff of the 
President-Dictator. 

This gorgeously got up individual was no stranger 
to the ladies of Don Ignacio’s household ; nor yet to 
the reader, since he was no other than Carlos San- 
tander, the Creole, and duelist of the steel shirt. None 
of the above-named parties knew aught of this last, 
save and excepting the reader. In the eyes of Don 
Ignacio and his daughter, Carlos Santander was still 
unblemished so far as his bravery was concerned. 
They but knew him as a prosperous soldier, and a 
favorite with the man by whom at the time all favors 
were dispensed. 

Come, girls !” said Don Ignacio, as he mounted 
the last step of the stair. “To-morrow you may get 
yourselves ready for a grand drive. And you are to 
dress in your grandest style, too. I have an honor for 
you, for which you are indebted to our friend Don 


82 


A CARD FOR THE STATE CARRIAGE. 


Carlos here. His excellency, the President, sends us 
an invitation to accompany him to the Paseo. We 
are to ride in the State carriages. See here ! It is 
actually written by himself.” 

Don Ignacio held in his hand a note, upon which 
appeared certain insignia that showed it to have come 
from the palace. Opening it with some flourish, he 
handed it to the ladies. His daughter only glanced 
at it, and a careful* observer might have detected a 
slight curl of disdain upon her lip as she passed it 
into the hands of her cousin. 

The latter read it with more care, but only out of i 
curiosity. She, too, held the honor lightly — her 
heart still heavy with the thought that her Ruperto 
was in prison, in peril of his life from the hostility of i 
him who was bestowing the favor. j 

" J 

Neither of the two made any observation, nor | 
showed sign of being overjoyed. Santander was 
chagrined by their silent reception of him ; but, skilled i 
in concealing his thoughts, he gave no visible evidence | 
of it. Don Ignacio was, perhaps, the most embar- 
rassed of all. 

j 

Fortunately, at that moment came relief in the i 
tinkling of a bell below ; and at the same time a 


A CARD FOR THE STATE CARRIAGE. 


83 


domestic stepped out upon the roof to announce, 
“ Dinner upon the table.” . 

Of course, there was a cover set for Santander, 
There always had been in the house of Don Ignacio — 
ever since his return to Mexico ; the Creole being a 
frequent guest, and almost looked upon as a member 
of the family. 

To explain this familiar relationship it may be 
necessary to return a little upon' the track of our story, 
though the reader may have already surmised the cir- 
cumstances that led to it. 

The change in the fortunes of Don Ignacio, or 
rather their restoration, was due to Santander, though 
only to a certain extent. 

After the duel the tutor had seen nothing more of 
his pupil, Florence Kearney, the supper having been 
the last scene of intercourse between them. The day 
after had been devoted by Kearney to the mustering 
in of his men, and the day and night following his 
fight he had been engaged in getting them on board 
a steamer, that before midnight was gliding stealthily 
down the river, with steam up, for Galveston, Texas. 
Without risking arrest he had not had the chance of 
bidding adieu to his friends in the street Casa Calvo ; 


8-i A CARD FOR THE STATE CARRIAGE. 

nor had they heard any account of the duel beyond 
that given them by Santander himself, who, knowing 
that all the hostile witnesses were now out of the way, 
had vouchsafed a version of it altogether different 
from the real occurrence, and highly favorable to him- 
self. Three flesh wounds in his arm', which for some 
time after had been carried gracefully in a sling, 
proved that he had fought ; and although he had not 
as much as drawn blood from his antagonist, he hinted 
at having given him a dangerous wound, that in all 
probability would end in his death. He said this only 
after the filibustering expedition had departed, and he 
knew there was not much danger of the falsehood 
being exposed. 

At the time of which we write there was very little 
intercourse between the Creoles of New Orleans, 
whether French or Spanish, and the citizens of Saxon 
or American blood. They dwelt in different districts 
or ‘‘municipalities,” as they are called, respectively 
named. First, Second, and Third ; and an event 
occurring in the First must be a grand affair indeed to 
become common talk in either of the others. Some- 
thing of this peculiarity still exists, but not as it was 
more than a quarter of a century ago. 


A CARD FOR THE STATE CARRIAGE. 


85 


Santander, then, having succeeded in sealing the 
lips of his own witnesses— his second and the doctor — 
the story of the* steel shirt never became much known 
in the lower municipalities, and not at all to.the Mexi- 
can exile or his daughter. With the latter he may 
have stood even better than before. Blood shed for 
woman’s sake, whether in her defence or only to win 
her favor, rarely fails to find it. It was on her account 
he had challenged, or rather insulted, his antagonist. 
She had witnessed the insult, and could not be igno- 
rant of the cause of the rivalry that dictated it. For 
her he had fought thi^ rival, and, according to his own 
account, defeated him. A tale told in the ears of a 
Mexican woman that rarely fails to find favor. 

For all this it made no impression upon Luisa Val- 
verde, or only a painful one. 

But it was far more painful to her to think that he 
who had been defeated had gone away without calling 
upon her to say a word of adieu. He had told her of 
the filibustering expedition, and his late-formed con- 
nection with it. She was sad to think he was going 
away, and yet proud to know he was to be one of its 
leaders. But why had he not come to speak that 


86 


A CARD FOR THE STATE CARRIAGE. 


parting word ? How could she know that at the last 
moment there was a design of putting a stop to the 
expedition and arresting those engaged in it ! It 
never occurred to her that her lover had to leave New 
Orleans at an hour of the night when she was asleep, 
perhaps dreaming of him. 

The result of all this was that the duel, which 
should have disgraced Santander forever in her eyes 
had she but heard the true account of it, so far only 
seemed to his advantage, and perhaps still more in the 
eyes of her father. The exile, weary with waiting for 
a change to come up in his favor — some turn of the 
political wheel — saw in this strong, bold duelist the 
man who might benefit and befriend him ; and who, 
for the sake of his daughter, would do both. 

It ended in the procuring of a conditional pardon 
from the despot of Mexico, which Santander easily 
obtained, and the return of Valverde to his native 
land. 

It did not at first give him full restoration of his 
estates, nor the diplomatic honors he was now enjoy- 
ing. A portion of the first, and all of the last, came 
after the dictator had set eyes upon his daughter, and 


A CARD FOR THE STATE CARRIAGE. " 87 

saw that she was fair. Those who know the character 
of Santa Anna will need no more minute explanation 
of why Don Ignacio Valverde was now in favor at 


court. 


88 


AFTER DINNER. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

AFTER DINNER. 

The dinner passed without anything particularly 
disagreeable. Indeed, Luisa was more cheerful than 
her wont. Don Ignacio attributed this to the honors 
she was expecting to receive on the morrow. It was 
but natural that a young girl should feel pride in being 
displayed as one of the belles of the court, in the train 
of a dictator, for Santa Anna was now really such. 
He little dreamt what was the true cause of that 
slight exhibition of gayety. It was because she now 
knew her lover to be a prisoner, which was better than 
to think that he was dead. 

Ysabel, contrary to her habit, was the reverse of 
cheerful. 

She, too, was thinking of her lover, a prisoner ; but 
this was not better than to believe that he was free, 
even with the reputation of being a robber. 

The ride in the State carriage was not much 
spoken of. 


AFTER DINNER. 


89 


Don Ignacio perceived that the subject was not so 
congenial as he had anticipated. No doubt the young 
ladies were both overjoyed at the idea ; but, woman- 
like, they did not wish to make exhibition of their 
vanity in the presence of a stranger — the gallant and 
gorgeous officer who sat by their side. 

Santander did most of the talking. He was a good 
talker — too good, in fact — for he did not always con- 
fine himself within the limits of truth. 

His talk this day was of the greatness and glory of 
his master, Don Antonio de Santa Anna ; how his 
power had been strengthened by the two last victories 
over the Texans — alluding to the Santa Fe and Mier 
expeditions, which had followed each other within a 
year. The staff officer hinted at an event that might 
soon be expected — an empire, with, of course, Don 
Antonio as the wearer of the imperial purple. 

“ Then,” added he, “ we shall have a real court, 
with all its ceremonies in proper splendor, as they 
should be. The Mexicans were made for an imperial 
form of government. Montezuma trained them to it 
three hundred years ago ; and they will never be 
happy till they return to it.” 

The doctrine was not pleasing to Don Ignacio. 


90 


AFTER DINNER. 


The old republican element was still at the bottom of 
his heart, though he dared not declare it. His long, 
painful exile was two freshly before him. To himself 
he did not seem yet so much confirmed — for Santa 
Anna was at this time still holding the reins of govern- 
ment under the title of Provisional President. But 
the title meant little now. Under the “ Plan of Tacu- 
baya,” he held supreme dictatorial power, and ruled 
in true dictatorial style. 

Santander talked much of the Texans — especially 
the Mier prisoners, who had just reached the city. He 
called them by all sorts of contemptuous names and 
made merry at their expense. 

While doing this he closely watched the counte- 
nance of Luisa Valverde. He could see nothing there 
to give him a clew to her thoughts, though it cost 
her a terrible effort to conceal them. She only suc- 
ceeded by remembering how much he was their enemy 
— especially the foe of him who was in her thoughts 
all the while. She knew that any sign of sympathy on 
her part would shut closer the prison doors upon 
Florence Kearney. 

Santander did not make mention of his name. 


AFTER DINNER. 


91 


Perhaps had he done so she would have been unable 
to control herself. 

When dinner was over the ladies withdrew from 
the dining-room ; and the gentlemen at the same 
time, both having business that called them back to 
the palace. Hearing this was a relief to the young 
girls, who both wanted to be alone. 

But before leaveng, Don Ignacio had a private in- 
terview with his daughter, which, though short, was 
of the utmost importance. 

Then, for the first time, did the ex-preceptor of the 
Spanish tongue learn that his old pupil, Florence 
Kearney, was a prisoner in the Acordada. 

The object of the interview, on Luisa’s part, was 
to ask her father’s intercession in the prisoner’s behalf 
— to entreat it if necessary. 

It needed not this. The good in Don Ignacio’s 
nature was not all gone. Despite the glories of his 
new career he. still remembered the noble young Irish- 
man, who, in his hour of adversity, had to some extent 
oefriended him. And despite the danger to himself 
the peril to his position, not very securely established 
— he promised to do all in his power to set the pris- 
oner free. 


92 


AFTER DIJ^^NER. 


In that very hour he was to see Santa Anna on 
business connected with the affairs of Texas. Owing 
to the experiences of his North American exile, in 
such matters he was often consulted. He would 
bring this special question before the Provisional 
President, and urge it with all the arguments he could 
think of. 

With this promise they parted. 


THE ACORDADA. 


93 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE ACORDADA 

One of the most noted sights is the City of Mexico 
— in short, one of its greatest ‘‘lions” — is the prison of 
the Acordada. Few strangers visit the capital of the 
Montezumas without also paying a visit to this cele- 
brated penal establishment ; and few leave it without 
having seen something of an unpleasant nature, and 
ever after to be remembered with pain. 

Perhaps there is no prison in the world where one 
may witness so much that is repugnant to the senses — 
both moral and physical — as inside the jail of the 
Acordada. 

There are cells set apart for every kind of crime 
known to the criminal calendar ; the cloisters — for the 
Acordada was once a monastery — filled with thieves, 
forgers, murderers, highway robbers — in short, with 
criminals of every kind — some of them strong and 
daring in their villainy, others weak under the wear of 
some loathsome disease. But they are not at all times 


94 


THE ACORDADA. 


shut Up in their cells ; there are open court-yards, 
where they can all meet in common ; where they squat 
down upon the flagged pavement, play cards, cheat and 
curse one another. 

Into the midst of this mass of degraded humanity 
were thrust the unfortunate prisoners captured at the 
battle of Mier. 

Only a few of them were excepted from this degra 
dation, and for reasons that need not here be told, 
sent elsewhere, the greater number to Tacubaya. But 
the young Irishman, Florence Kearney, and the Texan, 
Cris Rock, were - not among the exceptions. Both, 
after a short stay at another prison, were taken from 
it and became inmates of the Acordada. 

It was some consolation to them being permitted 
to share the same cell, though they would have liked 
still better to have had it all to themselves. 

They had not. Although it was only about six 
feet by nine — the cloister of some ancient monk, who, 
no doubt, led a happy life in spite of his circumscribed 
quarters — it was deemed by the jail governor too big 
for his brace of Texan “birds and two others, not 
Texans, were made to share it with them. The third 
and fourth inmates of the cell were both native Mexi- 


THE ACORDADA. 


95 


cans, and, of course, up to this time unknown to either 
of their prison “chums.” 

One was a man who, under more favorable circum- 
stances, would have presented a fine appearance. 
Even in his prison habiliments, with all the squalor 
attached to them, he looked as if he had once been a 
gentleman, and still was — a man. It was a figure of 
full middle size, with the limbs tersely set, and 
strongly conjointed together ; while his face was of 
the rotund type, bold in its expression, and yet with 
something of gentle humanity lying half hidden at the 
bottom of a dark, penetrating eye. There was no 
mustache on his lip — only the promise of one from a 
few days of neglected shaving, which told of the time 
at which he had become an inmate of the prison. 

If permitted to grow, it would have been coal- 
black, as was the short whisker on his cheek and the 
thick mass of hair bushing down over his ears and 
half concealing them. His skin was of that clear-olive 
tint peculiar to the Monico-Spanish race. 

Cris Rock “cottoned” to this man at the first 
glance, and liked him not much the less when told he 
had been a robber. Cris knew that a robber in 
Mexico may sometimes be an honest man ; or, at all 


96 


THE ACORDADA. 


events, may have taken to the road as the result of 
some terrible wrong, personal or political. Freeboot- 
ing becomes less a crime, or one easier of extenuation, 
in a country whose chief magistrate is himself a free- 
booter ; and such, at the time, was the chief magistrate 
of Mexico. 

For this reason could Cris Rock, the Texan, look 

with less repugnance and more leniency on their 

prison companion, Ruperto Rivas — for such was the 
/ 

name of the incarcerated robber. 

Beyond the fact or belief of his being a robber, 
little seemed to be known of him among the other 
inmates of the Acordada. Only his name had leaked 
out, coupled with some reminiscences that proclaimed 
him to be no common cutthroat, but the chief of a 
band. 

Altogether different was the fourth sharer of the 
cell ; unlike Ruperto Rivas as the satyr to Hyperion ; 
mentally unlike, for there was nothing in the robber’s 
face to denote sinister thought ; while the counte- 
nance of the other was an epitorhized title-page of , 
criminality. 

And physically was the contrast even greater ; an I 
actual comparison of extremes. No two human I 


THE ACORDADA. 


97 


beings could have been more unlike than the hand- 
some Ruperto Rivas and the horribly deformed dwarf 
and hunchback who counted No. 4 in the cloister. 

Among his fellow-prisoners of the Acordada this 
last was known b)^ the name of Zorillo^ or the “ little 
fox,” though he was also spoken of as “ dwarf hunch- 
back.” 

Previous to being joined by their new cell-mates 
the two Mexicans had been chained together, forming 
a strangely contrasting partnership. For some rea- 
son of his own the jail governor now separated them, 
uniting the dwarf to Cris Rock, the Texafi giant — if 
possible, a still greater contrast of couples ; while 
Florence Kearney and the robber became sharers of 
the same chain. 

A singular tableau was offered in the prison cell 
after this new assortment. It would have been ludi- 
crous but for the weird wildness that pervaded it ; 
and neither of the two new-comers was in a mood for 
being merry. 

Least of all did Cris Rock like the situation. His 
heart was big enough to have sympathy with the most 
wretched specimen of humanity, and he would have 
pitied his deformed fellow-prisoner but for a deformity 


98 


THE ACORDAEA. 


worse even than his physical ugliness. It was that 
which had made him an inmate of the Acordada ; for 
Cris Rock soon discovered that the hideous creature 
to whom he was united by a strong iron chain had 
committed the most atrocious of crimes — premeditated 
murder. And this, too, by the most abominable 
means — by poison. That the wretch had twice taken 
life by poison was known or generally believed 
throughout the prison. That he still lived was due to 
the proofs not being satisfactory ; and the crime for 
which he was now incarcerated, under a sentence of 
imprisonment for life, and along with it hard labor, 
was altogether a different affair. 

At first contact with his chain-companion, the 
Texan had recoiled from him, without knowing aught 
of his past. On learning this, the proximity became 
revolting, as no wonder it should. And not the less 
so, that he knew it was done to punish him for having 
flung some defiant language at the governor of the 
jail, besides striking one of his guards. 

Vengeance could not have devised a more effective 
mode of torture. The Texan groaned under it, at 
times gritting his teeth and stamping his feet as if he 


THE ACORDADA. 


99 


would have crushed the detormed creature beneath 
them into a still more shapeless deformity. 

Kearney could understand why Cris had been thus 
spitefully punished ; but not why he was himself so 
ingloriously linked. The other Mier prisoners had 
not been submitted to this kind of degradation ; only 
a few had been brought to the Acordada It is true, 
they were also chained two and two, but to one 
another, and not to Mexican criminals. He could not 
understand why he had been made an exception. lie 
only learnt it on the second day of his being brought 
to the prison, and just before being compelled to sub- 
mit to a still further act of humiliation. 

It was still early in the morning when the door 
of the cell was flung open, and by the side of the jail 
governor, who had ordered it to be opened, was a 
man Florence Kearney could not fail to remember. 
It was an officer in full staff uniform, buttoned, be- 
dizened and beplumed — evidently an aid-de-camp of 
the Dictator Santa Anna. 

In this brilliant personage Kearney recognized 
his steel-shirted antagonist in the duel at New 
Orleans. 

“ Santander — the scoundrel !” involuntarily fell 


100 


THE ACORDADA. 


from his lips, while through the teeth of the -Texan 
were heard expressions savoring still less of respect or 
politeness. 

“ Ha-ha ! my Yankee friends !” saluted the Creole, 
in a sneering tone. “A strange place I find you in! 
Queer company, too,” he added, glancing at the 
dwarf and then at Rivas, whose back, however, was 
towards him. “Not quite so pleasant. Monsieur 
Kearney, as that you used to keep in the Crescent 
City. But the lady is here now, and one of these 
days you may have an opportunity of seeing her, and 
perhaps renewing your acquaintance, though not 
under quite so favorable circumstances for love- 
making. The Senor Valverde has given up teach- 
ing languages. I presume, however, you are by 
this time sufficiently acquainted with Spanish not 
to need further instruction in that fine tongue. 

“ And you, my giant,” he continued, with a tanta- 
lizing sneer at the Texan — “ how do you like the atmos- 
phere of a Mexican prison ? Not quite so pure as 
that of a Texan prairie ; but, then, you are in such 
interesting company. Ha ! ha ! ha !” 

Rock’s eyes appeared as if they would start out of 
their sockets, while the great arteries upon his throat 


THE ACORDADA. 


101 


seemed swelling to the thickness of cables. But he 
felt he was powerless, and said nothing. 

“Who have we here7” asked Santander, stepping 
a little inside the cell, and craning his head over the 
shoulders of the robber in order to get sight of his 
face. “ Ah, indeed ! You it. is, Seflor Ruperto Rivas, 
who make the fourth comer to this interesting quar- 
tette ! How strange to meet so many of one’s old 
friends thus closely united in such a small space, and 
leading such a quiet, anchoritic life ! It beats the old 
monks — former occupants of this pleasant apartment 
^ — all to pieces. Ha ! ha ! ha !” 

Again his laugh rang scornfully through the court, 
as he turned towards the jail governor, apparently to 
give some direction. An angry light leaped out from 
the robber’s eyes, and crossed that glaring from the 
orbs of the Texan ; though neither said a word. 

The dwarf seemed rather pleased than otherwise. 
It gratified him to see this torture inflicted on those 
who had shown some scorn for him. 

“ Come, Senor Governor,” said Santander. “ These 
gentlemen — three of them at least — are old acquaint- 
ances of mine. It pains me to see them so closely 
confined. The atmosphere of the Acordada is not 


102 


THE ACORDADA. 


over-salubrious. They want fresh air and exercise. 
May I ask you, as a personal favor to myself, to give 
them a turn in the streets ? A little promenade would 
do them an infinite deal of good. What say you ?” 

. “ To oblige you. Colonel Santander,” replied the 
jail governor, with a bow, “ most certainly your friends 
shall have the promenade you speak of.” 

“ Thanks, Senor Governor. Good-day, gentlemen ! 
I hope to have the pleasure of meeting you outside ! 
Ha ! ha ! ha !” 

And with a third scornful cachinnation, the plumed 
poltroon turned away from the cell, whose door, 
closing behind, hid him from the sight of the infuri- 
ated but helpless butts of his cruel jesting. 

“What does he mean by this promenade in the 
streets?” asked Kearney of his chain-companion. 

“I think I understand,” rejoined the robber. “It 
will be in the streets — only a little below them.” 

While the young Irishman, mystified by the ambig- 
uous speech, was looking to the Mexican for an ex- 
planation of it, the door was once more thrown open, 
showing a file of soldiers outside.” 

los zancas cried one, addressing himself to the 
prisoners inside. 


THE ACOiiDADA. 


103 


“ What do the skunks want ?” asked Rock, in Span- 
ish sufficiently good to be intelligible to his Mexican 
fellow-prisoners. 

“Just what I expected,” was the reply of the rob- 
ber. “ They are going to take us to the sewers !” 


104 


A SPLENDID COLONEL. 


CHAPTER XV. 

A SPLENDID COLONEL. 

Carlos Santander, the defeated candidate for a 
captaincy of Texan volunteers, was now a colonel in 
the Mexican army, with full pay and appointments. 
He was, besides, upon the staff of the President-Dic- 
tator, with permission to adorn himself in gold lace 
and ostrich feathers at discretion. Santa Anna always 
liked a surrounding of gorgeously attired satellites, 
and the stylish Creole was just the man to please him 
in this respect. No trogon in all the tropical forests 
of Mexico was more gaudily brilliant than he ; and 
seen almost daily on his splendid black charger 
caracoling through the streets, or riding in the retinue 
of his excellency the President, his fine military ap- 
pearance prepossessed many people in his favor, and 
won the secret admiration of more than one dark-eyed 
senorita. 

Under such a full tide of prosperity he should have 
been supremely happy, or at the least contented. 


A SPLENDID COLONEL. 


105 


He was neither one nor the other ; but, on the 
contrary, at times rather miserable. His misery came 
from that same cause which has apportioned it to 
millions, and still continues dealing it out to thou- 
sands a day. 

Love was his disease, and his sorrow the doubt of 
its being requited. Even his base nature could be 
stirred by love, and his hard- heart tortured with 
jealousy. 

His passion for Luisa Valverde had only become 
strengthened by time, and he seemed as far as ever 
from having his heart tranquilized by her consent to 
become his wife. 

He had endeavored to make this the condition for 
his agency in procuring her father’s pardon. He had 
failed in the bargain, as she had remained firm in the 
refusal to enter into any such humiliating contract. 
But he had sought and obtained Don Ignacio’s 
amnesty all the same, hoping that by a show of gener- 
ous friendship he might yet overcome her resistance to 
his suit. 

There was no positive repugnance on her part, at 
least none openly exhibited. On the contrary, know- 
ing her father’s indebtedness to him, she was ever 


106 


A SPLENDID COLONEL. 


affable and polite. Santander had early discovered 
that with a high-bred and high-spirited girl as she was 
there could be no badgering nor dictation. He had 
not attempted either. Anything of this kind had been 
only communicated in innuendos to her father, who, 
alter long years of depression, had become less sensi- 
tive to his patrician dignity. 

Such was the relative situation of the parties on 
their return to Mexico. Santander supposed that then 
he would still continue to exercise the influence that 
in New Orleans he had held over the exile, and that 
in time Luisa would yield. He had hopes that the 
splendor of his life in the Mexican capital, so different 
from what he had been able to assume in the mercan- 
tile city of the Mississippi, would have its effect upon 
her, and that, sooner or later, she must surrender to 
his fascinations. 

He was just beginning to discover his mistake. 
Day by day, and little by little, his power over both 
father and daughter, instead of increasing, seemed to 
be upon the wane. Not only did the young lady 
pay less attention to his complimentary speeches and 
passionate appeals, but Don Ignacio appeared less 


A SPLENDID COLONEL. 


107 


to feel the subservience he had been wont to show 
him. 

The change in the father — if there was any — could 
be explained easily enough. Don Ignacio, an old 
Mexican hidalgo, once restored to place, was also 
restored to an influence with Santa Anna, equal if not 
greater than that of Santander himself ; and therefore 
stood no longer in need of the latter’s support. 

The staff colonel was at times reminded of the 
fable of the Fox and Goat, as also of the husbandman 
who had so imprudently thawed the snake ; though 
there was, in reality, no reason for him to cogitate 
thus, for there was no ingratitude on the side of the 
restored exile. Only that, in any matter with the 
master of both, Don Ignacio no longer felt the neces- 
sity for seeking an intercessor, and therefore did not 
seek it. Otherwise, he did everything to make 
acknowledgement of his indebtedness — among the 
rest, every-day acts of hospitality. 

It was the daughter’s conduct that gave Santan- 
der the greatest chagrin. She, too, treated him with 
perfect politeness, but at the same time with an air of 
independence that plainly said, ‘' Hands off, sir, till 
you are permitted to touch me.” 


108 


A SPLENDID COLONEL, 


/ 


He felt his impotence, and was at times maddened 
by it. 

He endeavored to account for her indifference. 
He saw her every day surrounded by admirers — by 
lovers — many of whom would gladly have become 
husbands. But he could detect no sign that any of 
them was specially favored any more, or even as 
much as himself. She appeared to listen to them all 
alike ; to treat all with equal indifference. Had Luisa 
Valverde determined on dying an old maid ? He 
might have come to this conclusion but for sorne 
souvenirs of the past, coupled to certain observations 
of the present. Since her return to her native city he 
had .frequently noticed her abstracted air, at times 
approaching to melancholy. He had observed it 
more especially at such times as mention chanced to 
be made of the old life in New Orleans, or when any- 
thing was said about Texas, or the Texans. He drew 
his own conclusions. She must still be thinking of 
his antagonist in that duel, the memory of which 
never came uppermost in his thoughts without caus- 
ing a feeling in his heart as if it were weighted with 
lead. What would she think of him if she but knew 
the truth of that affair, to him so disgraceful? The 


A. SPLENDID COLONEL. 


109 


gold lace with which he was now decked and bediz- 
ened would have but a dull shine in her eyes. 

He had watched with as keen interest as she every 
move made in the Mier expedition, and knew all along 
that Kearney was among the captives coming to Mex- 
ico. He did not sorrow that he was not one of the deci- 
mated at Salado ; for he did not wish him dead — 
not there. His wish — the keenest of his heart — was 
to see him alive in the City of Mexico, where he 
would have the opportunity of taking a delicious 
revenge. And in this wish was Cris Rock included. 
Brave young Irish gentleman, and brave Texan back- 
woodsman, could you have known upon your weary 
march who was awaiting you in the capital of the 
Montezumas, and what was his determination to- 
wards you, you might have had but a faint heart 
to struggle on to the end of your journey. 

And now at last both his intended victims were 
upon the spot, and his vengeance was soon to be 
accomplished. It was to end with their death ; but 
not until he had satisfied his spleen by putting them 
through a course of torture. With regard to Kearney 
it was something more than spleen ; for he had also 
a policy in it. He intended that the young Irish gen- 


110 


A SPLENDID COLONEL. 


tleman should suffer a humiliation in the presence 
of Luisa Valverde, in hopes that by humbling him 
before her eyes he might also degrade him in her 
heart. 

For this purpose he had contrived a scheme as base 
and cunning as that of fighting a sword duel in a 
steel shirt ; and it was in the furtherance of this 
scheme he had paid that visit to the prison at the 
Acordada. 


A Vain intercession. 


Ill 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A VAIN intercession. 

Once more upon the roof of Don Ignacio’s dwell- 
ing stood Luisa Valverde and her cousin Ysabel. It 
was on the same day on which Santander had dined 
at the house, but at a later hour — just as the sun was 
imprinting his last roseate kiss upon the snowy brow 
of the “ White Sister.” It will easily be surmised 
what they were talking about. It could only be the 
prisoners, Florencio and Ruperto, and the means of 
setting both free. 

Using all the political influence in their power — 
that was naturally their first thought. 

“It should be easy enough for you,” said Ysabel, 
“so far as your Tejano is concerned. What difference 
can it make to the government, one more or less of 
these poor fellows ! Surely they have enough of them 
— several hundred, they say. Your father’s influence 
with Don Antonio — that should be sufficient for such 
a slight favor.” 


il2 


A VAIN INT£KCESSI0N. 


“It is not so much as you think, Ysabel.” 

“Well ; there’s that of another to supplement and 
strengthen it. On your account I know he will do 
his best.” 

“You mean Don Carlos, I suppose ?” 

“ Of course I do.” 

“ Dearest cousin, how much you are mistaken. If 
there was a chance of setting Don Florencio free, Don 
Carlos would use his influence to prevent it. It is 
that I am most in dread of. You know not what has 
passed between them.” 

“Indeed! What?” 

“ A duel — and one that ended without reconciliation. 
I scarcely know how it ended, except as Don Carlos 
has told us ; but that has proved false, since he led us 
to believe that Florencio would not long survive it. 
He had hinted to us that he had given Floriencio a 
wound that would end in his death. Ah me 1 many a 
sad thought has that story cost me ; for I’d often 
believed him to be dead. He lives, thanks to the Holy 
Virgin !” 

As the young girl thus spoke she drew from her 
breast a silver image of the Virgin, and dropping 
down upon her knees, fervently kissed it. 


A VAIN INTERCESSION. 


113 


Well, cousin,” said Ysabel Almonte, after Luisa 
had again risen to her feet, “ I believe in the Virgin 
too ; but I’ve also got faith in the influence of men ; 
^nd I think your father can do much for you in the 
matter of Don Florencio. Fie may also do something 
for poor Ruperto ; but if both man and the Virgin 
fail, I mean to try another influence that’s good for 
something here in Mexico — that’s money. Though I 
am an orphan, I have the luck of being a rich one — 
thank Heaven or the Virgin for that.” 

The conversation of the two young ladies was here 
interrupted by a noise heard down sfairs. It was 
merely a voice speaking in the tone of authority used 
by a master to his servant. It was that of Don Ignacio, 
who had just returned from the palace, giving some 
directions to his domestics. 

“You go down, Ysabel, and tell father I am up 
here. And stay below. I would rather see him 
alone.” 

In obedience the amiable Ysabel tripped down the 
stairs, and communicated the message of her cousin ; 
which, as soon as he could ascend the long stairway,, 
brought Don Ignacio to the roof. As he reached the 
last step his daughter flung herself on his breast. 


114 


A VAIN INTERCESSION. 


“ Well, what news, papa ?” was the question put, 
quick after the affectionate salutation. 

“ Not so good as I expected, my dear child.” 

“ What ! Do they refuse to set him free ?” ^ 

“ They do, or he does ; for you know, my daughter, 
it is altogether at his pleasure. If Don Antonio wills 
it, it must be done. But, alas ! he does not will it. I 
don’t know why ; for surely it can be but little concern 
to him. What difference can it make about one poor 
prisoner where there are so many? Besides, Don 
Florencio is not an American — and, I told his excel- 
lency, only a traveller in the United States, who had 
joined these filibusters, as I urged it, out of a sheer 
spirit of adventure.” 

“O, father! For what reason were you refused? 
Did he give you any ?” 

• “ Only that it would not be compatible with the 
safety of the State, or, as he said, its dignity. He 
spoke bitterly against the Texans, and, I honestly be- 
lieve, would have every one of them hanged, or gar- 
rotted, if it wasn't for his fear of their powerful pro- 
tector — the United States.” 

“ But Don Florencio is not a Texan — not even an 


A VAIN INTERCESSION. 


115 


American. Why should Santa Anna feel spite against 
him ?” 

“Ah, why? There, my dear daughter, you 
approach a point. You forget the duel between Don 
Florencio and the Senor Santander. I have reason to 
suspect that Don Carlos is at the bottom of this re- 
fusal. I learned that he had been before me, and it is 
quite natural his influence should be greater than 
mine. As you know, he is an older friend and favorite 
than I.“ 

“ Papa ! did you tell his excellency / wished it ?” 

There was a strange cast upon the countenance of 
the young girl as this Question passed from her lips. 

“ I did, Luisa.” 

“ What said he in reply ?” 

“ He was sorry he could not concede what you 
requested — made many apologies for not doing so, 
and dismissed me by saying that he was willing to 
grant you an interview, and hear what you had to say 
upon the subject.” 

“ Indeed !” 

The exclamation was in a suppressed tone, spoken 
to herself more than to her father. It ended the con- 
versation on the housetop : for at that moment some 


116 


A VAIN INTERCESSION. 


one entering below requested an interview with her 
father. 

Don Ignacio went down first. His daughter 
lingered for a few seconds at the head of the stairway, 
as if she had stopped to reflect. 

She had ; and soon after, the reflection took the 
shape of a resolution, expressed in six short words : 

I shall go to him myself 1" 

The phrase came emphatically from her lips, and 
as if at once to carry out the determination it referred 
to, she descended the stone stairway with a quick, 
firm step, turned aside into her own chamber, then 
flinging a shawl hood-fashion over her head and shoul- 
ders, and without saying a word to any one, came 
forth once more, and descending the lower stair, 
passed silently out into the street. 


In the SEWERg. 


ill 


CHAPTER XVIL 

IN THE SEWERS. 

In all cities, great or small, there is a main line of 
traffic — a street where the shops sell richer goods, and 
show them in finer front windows — in short, the fash- 
ionable street. 

In the City of Mexico this is the Calle de Plater os, 
or ‘‘Street of the Silversmiths,” so called from the fact 
that there the jewelers and dealers in silverware do 
most congregate. It is of an afternoon the favorite 
promenade of the pedestrain, where the gilded youth 
of Tenochtitlan sport patent-leather boots, and smiling 
senoritas flirt fans over cheeks blushing like the blos- 
soms of the grenadine. 

These pedestrians of the Calle de Plateros are only 
on their way to the Alameda, a beautiful park-like 
garden, which is the goal of their afternoon expedition. 
On reaching this they saunter along smoothly-grav- 
elled walks, or sit under grand shade-trees around a 
circular fountain whose waters are supplied by the 


118 


m THE SEWEHS. 


springs of the Chapultepec — watching its crystal jet — 
the golden youth twirling tiny canes between kid- 
gloved fingers, the dark-eyed senoritas still continuing 
to flirt their fans — both, by these respective actions, 
speaking a language to each other only understood by 
the initiated. It is usually the language of love, and 
not unfrequently the silent but expressive tongue of 
intrigue. 

The “ Street of the Silversmiths ” ends at the gate 
of the Alameda ; but only in name. The same line of 
causeway and curbstone is continued nearly a half 
mile farther on, to the fashionable drive of the Faseo 
called Bucarelli ; to distinguish it from another 
“ paseo,” that of Los Vigos, away on the opposite side 
of the city, and only fashionable during the days of 
Lent. At all other seasons the street leading to the 
Paseo Bucarelli — at a certain hour in the afternoon — 
is the channel of a stream of carriages, some drawn 
by mules, some by Mexican mustangs, and a few by 
large American horses known as “grisones,” each car- 
riage with its bevy of dark-eyed and bareheaded 
sefloritas, their raven locks sparkling with jewels, or 
bedecked with fresh flowers. And alongside the car- 
riages go prancing steeds, carrying high-peaked 


IN THE SEWERS. 


119 


Stamp-leather saddles, and ridden by smartly equipped 
cavaliers, each apparently using the utmost strength 
of his arms to control his horse, while with spurred 
heels he is, at the same time, doing his best to render 
him uncontrollable. 

Every day in the year — except during Lent — such 
a scene may be witnessed in the street of Plateros, 
and further on in that of San Francisco, which con- 
tinues it — the latter so-called from the grand old con- 
vent alongside whose cloistered walls for several score 
of yards runs the curbstone. 

But in the same street, and in front of the same 
convent, may often be observed a spectacle less 
resplendent, and with groupings anything but gay. 

Along the centre of the street runs a sewer ; not, 
as in Northern cities, permanently covered up, with 
here and there gratings to give access to it, but a 
drain, loosely flagged over, the flags being removable 
at will. It is, in reality, not a sewer, but a “ zanca,” or 
sink — a place of deposit for the sewerage of the city, 
to be emptied, not by drainage — a thing impossible 
where there is neither slope nor water-shed — but by 
human hands — by scoops, shovels, and carts. 

At periodical intervals this sewer-sink requires 


120 


IN THE SEWERS. 


cleaning out, else the City of Mexico would be buried 
under the overflow of its own mud, foul with the filthi- 
est of odors. At such times of necessity the oblong 
flags are taken up and rolled to one side, the mud is 
first exposed to view, and then, with all its sickening 
perfume, tossed out upon the street. 

Who performs the disgusting task ? In the mild 
climate of Mexico there are but few men compelled to 
work or starve, and even the pauper shrinks froni such 
employment. It has to be done by the condemned con- 
vict. 

And when these are scarce — which is not often the 
case — the task devolves on those prisoners who may 
still be awaiting their trial without reference to their 
condemnation or acquittal. 

So was it allotted to Florence Kearney and Cris 
Rock, with their fellow-prisoners. 

Though at first a little mystified by the command, 
“ A los zancas,” they were soon inducted into its 
meaning by being marched to the street of San Fran- 
cisco, and there compelled to descend, over waist 
deep, into a sewer, and with shovels thrust into their 
hands, told to toss out its inky contents upon the 
pavement. 


IN THE SEWERS. 


121 


It was about three o’clock in the afternoon when 
they were first brought out, just as the wealth, beauty 
and fashion of the Mexican metropolis had awakened 
from its noonday repose, and now, lolling in carriages 
^ or seated on capering steeds, were making their 
way towards the Paseo, to enjoy the afternoon 
drive. 

Down the street of San Francisco glided the gay 
stream — a current composed of many varied and 
strange forms of equipage. Here the splendid 
barouche, imported from England, or the States, and 
drawn by its pair of high-stepping horses, also an 
importation, with liveried driver upon the box ; there 
rolled lumberingly along the old family coach that 
looked as if it had come into the country with Cortez 
and his conquestadores, a double team of large mules 
dragging it along, and a huge-hatted Mexican servant 
mounted a la postillion on the off leader. There, too, 
was the hack, with its sharp-witted driver, as seeit 
all over the world ; the “ calero,” bearing some 
resemblance to a Rockaway wagon ; and here and 
there an English Stanhope phaeton, carrying a 
brace of “ bloods ” of the kind not peculiar to Mex- 


ico. 


m 


IN' THE SEWERS. 


Interspersed with the carriages, or riding alongside 
of them, were horsemen of different styles and cos- 
tumes, most of them mounted on the small Mexican 
horse, ever curveting, though here and there might be 
seen a sober, senatorial gentleman astride an animal 
of the imported breed, less prone to prancing. But 
the greater number were of the light, fiery Andalusian 
race, their little, jacketed riders, by a sly prick of the 
spur, keeping their fire up in order to exhibit their 
horsemanship before the dark eyes flashing like coals 
of fire from the inside of the carriages. These cava- 
liers were the “ gilded youth ” of Mexico, though look- 
ing far less like it than several “ rancheros ” (men from 
the country) who were also seen riding in the crowd, 
some of them accompanied by their wive^ or daugh- 
ters, who had come to see city sights ; these last with 
broad-brimmed, masculine hats upon their heads, and 
seated in their saddles after the fashion set by the 
celebrated Duchess de Berri. 

It was, in truth, a curious and attractive cavalcade, 
or procession, it might be called, though it possessed 
little attraction for the shackled prisoners who toiled 
in the sewer below. 

And as little curiosity had the gay sparks on horse- 


In TiiE sewees. 


123 


back or the languishing lollers on carriage cushions 
about the jail-birds from the Acordada, chained two 
and two, one standing neck deep in the zanca, scoop- 
ing out its fetid filth, the other shoveling it aside, with 
their soldier guards standing over them, as like jail- 
birds as themselves. This was no new sight to the 
pleasure-seekers bent towards the Paseo. If it caused 
a reflection, it was when the dainty nose was turned 
askant to escape the disagreeable odor ; and then it 
was a wish that the dirty work could be dispensed 
with, and a wonder that it should not be performed at 
some other time than when the votaries of fashion and 
pleasure were on their way to the afternoon drive. 

If there was any curiosity exhibited by the passing 
crowd it was at sight of two Texan prisoners, now seen 
for the first time in company with Mexican convicts 
cleaning out the sewers of the city. 

Cris Rock and Florence Kearney were the two, the 
Texan giant still coupled to^ his dwarf, while near at 
hand was the young Irishman with the robber at the 
end of his chain. The former couple, so strikingly 
contrasted in size, at times drew the attention of the 
dames and cavaliers, and a look of wonder, an ex- 


I2i 


In the sewers. 


clamation, or a whispered word, would pass between 
them ; but the carriages rolled on, the steeds prancing 
beside them as before, and the manacled and mud- 
stained toilers were soon forgotten. 


A MUTUAL RECOGNITION. 


125 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

A MUTUAL RECOGNITION. 

For over an hour the tide of gay and glittering 
humanity kept flowing on, each party in passing 
making some remark about the strange group seen toil- 
ing with the chain-gang of the Acordada. Cris Rock 
was down in the sewer, and therefore did not seem so 
gigantic, except to those acquainted with its depth, 
w’hile his chain-partner worked upon the edge. With- 
in a few feet of them were Kearney and the robber. 

But without the additional attraction of the dwarf 
the Texan was a sight in himself. He was bespat- 
tered all over with black mud, though it was little 
blacker than the scowl upon his brow. Nearly every 
shovelful thrown out by him was accompanied 'by ? 
curse sent hissing through his teeth, with now and 
then a muttered threat — such as that if he should 
ever get “cl’ar o’ that scrape and back agin to Texas, 
the Mexikins mout look out for partickler forked 
lightnin’,” 


126 


A MUTUAL RECOGNITION. 


The young Irishman was not less impatient undei* 
the infliction. He was silent ; but it was that sort of 
silence that told how deeply he felt the degradation 
to which he was being submitted. 

And why ? There was cause for the question. 
Only they, of all the Texan prisoners, Were being so 
treated, for they had heard of none other But indeed 
Kearney knew the cause without asking the question. 
Santander’s presence in the prison explained all. 

But far more disagreeable than even the disgusting 
task — far more afflicting to his spirit, were reflections 
and conjectures of another kind that had been passing 
through his mind ever since that interview with his 
old antagonist. The information given by the latter 
had startled and pained him. Luisa Valverde in Mex- 
ico, and the taunt about his having the opportunity of 
again seeing her — of “ renewing the acquaintance 
under circumstances less favorable for love-making.” 

lad she come back to the country along with Santan- 
der, and as his willing companion ? He (Kearney) 
had known the story of Don Ignacio’s exile, and some- 
thing of its cause, but nothing of his future plans and 
prospects. He remembered him speaking of Santa 
Anna as his greatest enemy. Santa Anna was still in 


A MUTUAL RECOGNITION. 


127 


power. Had Don Ignacio been pardoned, and per- 
mitted to return to his country, his daughter along 
with him ? or had she returned alone in the company 
and under the protection of Santander? Had she 
married the wretch, and was she at that moment his 
wife ? 

In this form the conjecture was a fearful one. 
Nevertheless he could not avoid giving credence to it. 
It became almost a conviction, as he pondered on that 
taunting, triumphant speech, and his spirit groaned 
within him. 

While flinging out the mud, and thus gloomily 
reflecting, there'came a murmur along the street, such 
as usually precedes some exciting incident or occur- 
rence. Almost on the instant arose the cries, which 
we translate : 

‘‘ Long live Santa Anna, the illustrious !” 

And then a carriage came slowly along, gilded like 
the coach of a London lord mayor, and preceded by a 
troop of splendidly uniformed cavalry, with another 
troop behind, forming its escort It was an open 
barouche, with two men inside seated on the back 
cushions. In him of dark complexion — doubly dark 
from the habitual frown upon his face, the prominent. 


128 


A MUTUAL KECOGNITION. 


nearly aquiline nose, and quick, sharp glance, sinister 
and sensuous, the Texans recognized the skulker of 
San Jacinto — he who, when taken prisoner on that 
famed battle-field, had promised, by his honor and 
upon his oath, never again to question their claim to 
independence. False to both honor and oath, to the 
sworn parole — by which he had been permitted to 
return to his country, instead of swinging, as he 
should have done, from a Texan tree — he had since 
not only questioned, but assailed it. Their presence 
in the sewers of Mexico was sufficient proof. 

Cris Rock knew the traitor well — his countenance, 
person, everything. Kearney could tell who it was by 
the surroundings and the cries sent forth. 

But the young Irishman only glanced at him. 
His eyes and his thoughts were upon the other man — 
the venerable looking gentleman who sat composedly 
by Santa Anna’s side. Despite the change of dress — • 
the coat of diplomatic cut — he recognized his old 
New Orleans tutor, Don Ignacio Valverde ! 

He had scarcely time to reflect on the unexpected 
apparition when it passed out of his sight — the car- 
riage, its occupants, and its escort. And before he 
could recover from his Astonishment at the strange 


A MUTUAL RECOGNITION. 


129 

companionship thus presented to his view, another 
spectacle far more painful, if not more surprising, 
was passing before his eyes. 

A second carriage came along, closely following 
the rear-guard troop of dragoons. It was also an 
open barouche, with two ladies reclining against its 
cushioned back, while an officer in full uniform, gaudy 
with gold lace, rode on horseback close alongside it, 
and bending over as if in conversation with the ladies. 

One of these Kearney did not know, nor did he 
spend a thought upon her. 

For he knew the other, and the officer alongside — 
both of them too well. The former was Luisa Val- 
verde, the latter Don Carlos Santander ! 

His heart sank within him at the sight. His dark- 
est conjectures were all true. His rival — his cowardly 
antagonist — had indeed triumphed, and if Luisa Val- 
verde was not yet his wife she seemed in a fair way of 
soon becoming so. 

As they came on, 'Kearney could see that they were 
in conversation. It did not appear very animated. 
She sat in a listless attitude, as if careless of what was 
being said or what was passing around her. But on 
the carriage getting nearly opposite to where Kearney 


130 


A -MUTUAL RfiCOGNITION. 


Stood — he was on the edge of the sink, the robber 
taking his turn below — the escorting cavalier whis- 
pered some words in her ear that caused her suddenly 
to sit erect, at the same time directing her glance 
towards the sewer-cleaners below. 

Kearney saw that her eyes were upon him, and 
by the start she gave, knew that he was recognized. 
He saw her glance quickly over his person, as if 
taking in his pitiful appearance ; but. before he could 
meet and read in it either sympathy or contempt, the 
carriage had passed, and its hood concealed her from 
his sight. He could only see the grand tortoise comb 
rising in volutes above the masses of her raven hair, 
and he watched it far away— keenly, intently watched 
for the turning of that crested head. 

But the carriage kept steadily on — so, too, the 
towering tortoise shell. The only thing that turned 
back was the face of Santander, who with beard upon 
his shoulder, and eye triumphantly shining, seemed 
grandly satisfied with the scene he had himself con- 
trived — both its tableau and spectators. 

“ I unnerstan’ it all now,” said Cris Rock, calling 
out of the sewer to Kearney. “Altho’ ’twar plain 
enough to me when he showed his ugly countenance 


A MUTUAL RECOGNITION. 


131 


in the prison. The skunk’s at home hyar, and only 
made belief to j’inin’ us in Orleens to git the chance 
o’ betrayin’ us. But for you he’d a been the capting 
o’ the company, an’ then — wal, then it couldn’t a been 
wuss than it is, an’ it mout a been better. Preehaps 
somethin’ mout a turned up — Darnat ! what’s the use 
o’ spekilatin’ now? We’re hyar — hyar in the sewer o’ 
Mexico — whagh !” 

The Texan had no more words to expend upon 
the subject. This last exclamation filled up the 
measure of his indignation, and its echo became 
mingled with the clinking of his shovel and the clank- 
ing of his chain. 

And the chain upon the ankle of Florence Kearney 
seemed to clasp closer than ever. It felt as if crunch- 
ing the bone. 


132 


THE FAIK PLOTTEkS. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE FAIR PLOTTERS. 

“ What is to be done, Luisita ?” [Luisita is an en- 
dearing diminutive of Luisa.] 

The question came from Ysable Almonte, addressed 

to her cousin. The fime, just after the return from the 

» 

ride in the State carriage ; the scene, once more upon 
the roof of Don Ignacio’s house ; the subject the reader 
can conjecture for himself. He will guess that it re- 
lated to the setting free of certain prisoners seen at 
work in the street sewer, and in so guessing he will be 
correct. 

Miss Valverde made no reply. She had thrown 
herself upon one of the cane chairs that formed part 
of the roof furniture, while with her head drooping 
and pressed between lier tiny jeweled hands, she 
seemed to have yielded herself to something border- 
ing on despair. 

But it was not so. Between those 'gemmed and 
glittering fingers there was a brain busy with active 


THE FAIR PLOTTERS. 


133 


thought, for she was engaged in a profound reflec- 
tion. 

m 

“ There is no hope, you say, from the palace ?” con- 
tiued Ysabel, without waiting for an answer to her 
first question. “ I know there is none for Ruperto. 
He was one of the strongest opponents to the Plan of 
Tacubaya, which you know brought back our present 
ruler. Sa*nta Anna will never forgive him. Ah ! 
there’s no mercy in high quarters for poor Ruperto,” 

“Nor for Florencio either,” said Luisa, at length 
withdrawing the jeweled hands and showing pale, 
bloodless cheeks “ He, too, has an enemy in the 
palace more implacable than the President himself.” 

“ I know who you mean. It is true. I, saw it in 
his eye as we passed them in the sewers. Dearest 
Luisa, I saw death in his eye. After looking at it, I 
felt more than ever what great danger hangs over my 
Ruperto.” 

“ My Florencio !” 

“ Oh, Luisita ! what can we do to save them ? We 
must take steps.” 

After this interrogatory there was silence for a 
while, each becoming absorbed in her own thoughts, 
both struggling to conceive some plan by which the 


134 


THE FAIR PLOTTERS. 


rescue of the two men so dear to them might be 
effected. 

Ysabel, partly from having been of late more at 
home in Mexico, and therefore more freshly familiar 
with its ways, and partly that she was naturally of 
quicker and bolder conception, was the first to think 
of a scheme. 

“Cousin,” she said, “I believe I have hit upon a 
plan that promises.” 

“Let me hear it, Ysabel !” 

“ Are you ready to run a risk ?” 

“For Florencio, any risk — even of my life. I know 
that his is in danger — nay, will surely be sacrificed if 
something be not done to get him out of ^ the prison. 
Something must be done.” 

“ Well, there is risk even for our own lives in what 
I’m going to propose, though more for the lives of our 
lovers.” 

“ O, Ysabel ! tell me what it is. .Let me, too, be 
judge of the danger.” 

“First tell me, cousin — can you place confidence 
in Jose ?” 

“Jose?” 

“Your father’s coachman.” 


THE FAIR PLOTTERS. 


135 


“Any confidence. He was brought up on our es- 
tate , I may almost say in our family. Pepita, my lit- 
tle maid, who shared with us our long exile, is his 
sweetheart. In anything we do, we need have no fear 
of Jose. His honesty will be proof against anything.” 

“Do you think we could equally rely on his 
courage ?” 

“For what? And how far?” 

“Well, at least to some risk of his life, and a lit- 
tle more of his liberty.” 

“ I believe the brave youth would risk either, or 
both, for my father or myself.” 

“ I think so too, from what I have observed of him. 
And if he will, I know a way by which he can serve 
us in this matter. It’s a little bit wild, I admit, and 
may get us both into something worse than a dilemma 
— in fact, into terrible trouble — perhaps a prison. I, 
for my part, don’t care so long as there’s a chance of 
getting my dear, brave Ruperto out of his.” 

“Neither I, if I can but rescue my dear, brave 
Florencio. You know I don’t, cousin ! Oh, Ysa. ! at 
once tell me what you are aiming at !” 

“Well, then,” said Ysabel, speaking half in solilo- 
quy, “ though our brave beauties are no longer in the 


136 


THE EAIE PLOTTERS. 


sewers to-night, it is as good as certain they will be 
there again to-morrow ; and we must find the means 
of communicating with them. Under ordinary cir- 
cumstances this could be done through the door of 
their prsion by the aid of a golden key. But from 
what I saw, and what we know, there will be special 
vigilance in their case, and even a bribe might fail. 
Is Jose adroit at delivering letters ?” 

“ I cannot tell, cousin. I have never made use of 
him for such purpose. But I know one that is — ” 

“ Who, pray ?” 

“ My maid Pepita.” 

“ Ah ! Pepita. I did not think of her. She will do 
infinitely better. Now, what I propose is this : You 
write a letter to Florencio, or I one to Ruperto, or we 
can both write, and put them in the same envelope, 
and let Pepita get close to them when they are at 
work in the street, and deliver it. She must contrive 
to drop it within reach of one of them, when the 
sentry is not looking on. She can do this much better 
than Jose. Men are so clumsy in such matters.” 

“ But what is this letter to contain ?” 

The answer could not have been given without 
being overheard ; for at that moment Don Ignacio, 


THE FAIR PLOTTERS. 


137 


with a number of gentlemen guests — Santander among 
them was heard ascending the stairway, already close 
to its head. 

But before they had made their appearance on the 
roof Ysabel placed her pretty lips close to the ear of 
her cousin and whispered ; 

‘‘I’ll tell you all about it, Luisita, after they have 
gone — when we’re going to bed.” 

And, true to her promise, she did. That night, 
before the two cousins separated to seek rest, Pepita 
and Jose were admitted to their counsel, and a plan 
was discussed and matured for giving freedom to their 
friends in the Acordada. 

It was a bold design, fraught with perilous conse- 
quences to all four as well as to the prisoners. But 
neither of the young ladies dwelt upon the danger to 
themselves ; and they knew that the peril already 
impending over the heads of their sweethearts could 
not be greater. 


138 


A LETTEK ADROITLY DELIVERED. 


CHAPTER XX. 

A* LETTER ADROITLY DELIVERED. 

At an early hour the next day the prison gang was 
again marched out through the massive gates of the 
Acordada, and set to work in the sewer of San Fran- 
cisco street. 

As on the day before, Kearney and Cris Rock, with 
their respective chain partners, formed two of its files. 

Neither submitted to the degradation without 
making protest. But their words were idle, and only 
drew upon them the jeers of their jailers, and the 
mocking laughter of the brutal soldiers set over them 
as sentinels. 

T*o men of ordinary minds there would have ap- 
peared no possible hope or chance to escape from the 
torturing situation. And yet they talked of such a 
thing. It was, in fact, the sole subject of their 
thoughts, as the only topic of their conversation. 
Men of Cris Rock’s character and experiences never 
surrender themselves to despair. So long as life is 


A LETTER ADROITLY DELIVERED. 


139 


left them they believe in its chances, since their lives 
have been illustrated by those hair-breadth escapes 
that beget and foster such belief. Even the decimation 
of Salado, still fresh before his memory, did not hinder 
the Texan from dreaming of some loop-hole that 
might be still left open — some effort to be made, how- 
ever desperate, rather than submit to the ignominy 
now put upon him. 

As for the young Irishman, he was equally restless 
in his chains, and reckless as to how he might get 
clear of them. The spectacle of yesterday had ren- 
dered him indifferent about his life. All that would 
have made it dear to him seemed hopelessly lost ; for 
he doubted not that Luisa Valverde was lost to him 
forever. She might not be married to the man he had 
seen by her side. It did not appear as if this last final 
act had been consummated. But it was all the same. 
She was evidently on terms of good understanding 
with Santander, and he himself had been long since 
forgotten, or now only remembered to be scorned and 
sneered at. 

If, at any moment, he and the Texan could have 
got rid of the chains that attached them to their fel 
low-prisoners, they were both desperate enough to 


140 


A LETTER ADROITLY DELIVERED. 


have run a mad muck through the streets of Mexico, 
trusting to any chance that might turn up for a change 
— even should it end in the laying down of their lives. 

At every turn they talked of this to one another. 
And they had ample opportunity for holding such a 
discourse without any one around being the wiser for 
what they said. Neither the sentries placed over 
them nor the prisoners who shared their chains under- 
stood a word of English ; and they could, therefore, 
freely discuss any plan without the necessity of speak- 
ing in whispers, or being near to one another. 

They did so, both while at work in the sewer and 
at rest in the cell ; but the miserable hours dragged 
slowly on and still no feasible scheme presented 
itself. Their ankle “jewelry,” as Rock in bitter jocu- 
larity termed it, was sound and strong, their guards 
ever vigilant, and, besides, each carried, as it were, a 
millstone around his neck in the criminal attached to 
his leg. They had no hesitation about communicating 
their thoughts to him who was Kearney's “ couple.” 
The young Irishman, who spoke Spanish sufficiently, 
had already sounded him, and found the robber ready 
and reckless as himself. He, too, chafed at the indig- 
nity put upon him, and, furthermore, believed that 


A LETTER ADROITLY DELIVERED. 14 L 

his life was in danger. He had given Kearney his 
reasons for this belief, which somewhat surprised him. 
They were sufficient to make him brave any danger, 
and take share in any chance for escape that might 
offer itself. 

About the other individual all three had their 
doubts. They were based on some knowledge which 
the robber already possessed of him, also confirmed by 
certain observations they had made since sharing the 
cell with him. 

Deep-dyed criminal as this creature was, some- 
thing had been seen by them leading to a suspicion 
that he would play traitor in any attempt they 
might make. His aspect told of a man who could 
not be true, even to companions in misfortune. Con- 
demned to a life-long imprisonment, with hard labor 
attached, he might expect some shortening of the 
term, or commutation of the punishment, for doing 
the State a service. He was the sort of tool for 
such ignominious service, and the other three could 
not help having a thought that he had been placed 
in proximity with them to report upon their words 
and actions. 

“ Durn the varmint !” Cris Rock would repeatedly 


142 


A LETTER ADROITLY DELIVERED. 


exclaim. “ If’t warnt that they mout still leave his 
ugly karkess to the eend ’o the chain I shed double 
him up wuss than he air now, so as he kedn’t git the 
breath through that crooked thrapple o’ hisn. I guess, 
Cap, I kin see how the cat jumps. This meanest o’ all 
skunks haint been jined to me for nothin’. He’s put at 
my feet thar — aint he a nice-lookin’ Gamalyeel ! — for no 
other purpuss than to play spy on the hul lot o’ us. I 
wish I hed him ten minnits on a Texas puraira. I’d 
gie the turkey-buzzards such a banket as none o’ ’em 
ever hed afore. But I don’t believe as thar’s a carrion 
crow in all Texas as ud stick a bill into him ! Wagh !” 

The final exclamation told that Cris had nothing 
more to say. It was his usual way of winding up. It 
was the closing speech of a discussion that had been 
carried on triangularly between the three — Kearney 
interpreting Rock’s words in whispers to his chain 
companion. 

The subject was, of course, about the means to 
make their escape. They could think of no plan, but 
for all this they entertained the idea, hopeless though 
it seemed. Ruperto Rivas was less despairing than 
either of his Texan fellow-prisoners. In fact, the rob- 
ber was the only one of the three who had reason to 


• A LETTER ADROITLY DELIVERED. 


143 


have a hope, and this was based on some expectation 
of help from without. Men of dark, sinister aspect, 
with broad-brimmed slouch hats, and scrapes muffling 
them up over the chin, might have been seen exchang- 
ing glances with him as he passed out of the prison ; 
while the same men, or others very like them, stood at 
street corners or in shaded nooks, regarding him as he 
shoveled the dirt out of the sewer. He was not igno- 
rant of who these men were — for he knew them to be 
confederates — members of his own band. But up to 
this time he had found no opportunity of exchanging 
speech with them, much less of planning a way of 
escape ; not even the simple preliminary of being 
provided by them with a file. 

There was an unusual watchfulness on the part of 
the guards — both turnkeys and sentinels. There must 
have been an unwonted cause for it ; and this was of 
itself enough to‘ make the robber doubly apprehen- 
sive. He read in it the action of an unseen hand ; 
which he had at first suspected to be that of his old 
enemy, Santander — and he now knew it was he. The 
knowledge gave him good cause for anxiety. 

Santander, who had once also suffered humiliation 
from him, was again in high place and power, and 


144 : A LETTER ADROITLY DELIVERED. 

therefore, Rivas could not tell the day or the hour in 
which his neck might be grasped by the garrote. No 
wonder he should feel alarmed at his situation, or that 
in passing along the streets he should glance inquir- 
ingly and beseechingly towards his disguised confed- 
erates, who could only return his glances with grim 
smiles of despair. 

It was thus on the second day, when linked to his 
Texan fellow-prisoner, he was once more taken out to 
the sewers. 

Kearney was down below the robber at work on 
the pavement alongside. The length of the coupling 
chain permitted this freedom of action. They took it 
turn and turn, not through any understanding of their 
own, but by order of the guards ; and it had come to 
be the Irishman’s turn below. While thus occupied, 
he did not perceive that a young girl was standing 
with her eyes fixed intently upon him. 

She had been, to all appearance, passing carelessly 
along the street, and had come to a stand upon the 
pavement, as if prompted by curiosity to watch the 
chain-gang at their work. She was a dark-skinned 
damsel, belonging to the lower order of the people, as 
was evident from her short, sleeveless skirt, bare 


A LETTER ADROITLY DELIVERED. 


145 


ankles, and the bluish gray scarf thrown over her head 
and shoulders. This, with its peculiar folding, so con- 
cealed her face that but one eye was visible ; and 
Ruperto Rivas, who was looking at her, saw only one. 
In this, however, he detected an expression telling 
him, plain as words could have declared it, that the 
owner of that eye had not stopped there to use it from 
mere motives of curiosity. 

“ What’s your wish. Miss ?” he asked, working his 
shovel close up to her pretty little feet, and speaking 
so that the sentinel might not overhear him. 

The muffled wench did not make immediate 
answer; on the other hand, she did not seem intimi- 
dated at being accosted by a convict. For a moment 
she regarded him with the half concealed eye, as if 
interrogating herself whether he could be trusted. It 
was evident her business was not with him, but with 
his companion in the sewer. 

The connecting chain spoke a whole volume, and 
with an eloquence not to be misconceived. Two men 
thus linked together could not well be of two minds. 
The girl seemed instinctively to arrive at this conclu- 
sion ; for glancing towards the sentinel — a glance that 
spoke her suspicion only of him — she gave a nod of 


146 


A LETTER ADROITLY DELIVERED. 


her head that seemed to say “ My business is with the 
man in the sewer.” 

At that moment Kearney stood erect, with a full 
shovel poised in his hands. He saw the girl standing 
above. The liquid mud rolled back upon his wrists, 
as in that half concealed face, now thrown a little open 
to his gaze, he recognized a countenance well known 
to him. Only with a difficulty did he restrain him- 
self from exclaiming aloud : 

“ Pepita !” 

He muttered it in a low voice, loud enough for her, 
but not for the sentry to hear him. 

The girl made no rejoinder in words. There was 
no opportunity for her to do so. She had only just 
time, before the guard turned his face towards the 
group, to dart her little brown hand outside the folds 
of the blue-gray scarf, and from her fingers project a 
bit of paper that looked like a letter, and which she 
dropped into the sewer right between Kearney’s feet. 

Craftily and quickly, but with care, he took it up, 
as quickly concealing it under the bosom of his shirt. 
He had the opportunity of doing so without being 
observed, as, at that moment, a row was raised 
between Rivas and the sentry, drawing the attention 


A LETTER ADROITLY DELIVERED. 147 

of all around. It was a fracas cunningly contrived 
and well executed. 

Ere the wordy strife had come to a termination, 
the paper missive was safely stowed out of sight ; 
while she who had so adroitly delivered it was passing 
away, with back turned upon the convict gang, as 
unconcernedly as if they were but ordinary crossing 
sweepers ! 


148 


A BAKING EPISTLE. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

A DARING EPISTLE. 

To Florence Kearney for the rest of that day the 
sewer-work seemed light. There was lying alongside 
his heart that which acted like a preventive against all 
pain — a balm to his keenest sorrows. 

He knew not.what the precious epistle might con- 
tain, but it was enough to know whence it had come ; 
for he felt assured it was from Luisa Valverde. In the 
slight glance he had got of the superscription, he saw 
only that it was in a feminine hand, but what other 
than hers could have written it ? 

And what could she have written that would not 
be pleasant for him to read ? If otherwise, she would 
not have communicated with him at all. Nothing 
could be clearer than this, and it was reasoning that 
both satisfied and gratified him. 

The letter lay like a sweet solace against his heart, 
and he felt as though her own soft fingers were press- 
ing upon his bosom, thrilling him with their magic 


A DARING EPISTLE. 


140 


touch. How he longed for the day to be done— until, 
in the silent corner of his cell, he might draw the 
precious epistle forth, and devour its contents. 

His chain companion shared his longings, for 
although the robber had not seen the ladies in the 
carriage — being eit the time of their passage head 
down in the ditch — he had been told something of 
them. He had seen the messenger, and conjectured 
from whom the missive had come. He had surmised 
something of the nature of its contents, or at all 
events that they might be in some, way or other 
conducive to a plan for the escape of his prison 
“chum,” which could not fail to have a bearing upon 
his own fate. 

Rock was equally interested in what the letter 
might be about, and better informed as to who had 
written it. 

During their long march across the prairies of 
Texas, and while encamped by the midnight fire, his 
captain and friend had confided to him the story of 
his acquaintance with the Mexican exile, and more 
than hinted at his affection for the exile’s daughter. It 
was needed to explain the cause of that strange duel 
of which Rock had been a spectator, and come so 


150 


A DARING EPISTLE. 


near playing a tragical part in. He had on the day 
before seen the two beautiful ladies in the carriage, 
and noticed the recognition between one of them and 
Kearney, with the effect it had produced upon the 
latter. Since, while in the cell, Kearney had whispered 
to him who she was. Rock, down in the sewer beside 
him, had seen his old comrade picking up the paper 
that had been dropped at his feet, which by good for- 
tune the hunchback had not, the latter being at the 
time taken up and greatly delighted with the angry 
altercation between Rivas and the soldier. 

And the Texan quietly concluded that the letter 
thus received must have come from the lady in the 
carriage — for who but she could have sent it ? 

He, too, conjectured that there might be something 
good in it, and something better to come out of it, and 
for this reason he was as impatient as Kearney for the 
hour to knock off work. 

It came at length, and the convicts of the chain- 
gang were conducted back to their gloomy quarters 
in the Acordada, and the Texans, with their coupled 
companions, once more shut up in their cell. 

There was still a difficulty. The letter could not 
be read in the presence of Zorilla, nor even shown to 


A DAKINtt EPISTLE. 


151 


him. Its contents could not be other than com- 
promising — perhaps not so much to them as to the 
writer. They all dreaded the dwarf’s betraying 
them, and some scheme must be devised to keep his 
eyes out of the way. Rock thought of smothering 
him up in a serape, and by force holding him thus 
blindfolded till the reading could be done. But this 
would beget suspicion, and a better plan suggested 
itself to the robber. 

The crooked creature, like every other Mexican, 
whether straight or crooked, was a keen and accom- 
plished card player, and cards are not denied even to 
condemned criminals. 

The dwarf carried a pack in his pocket. 

“ A game of monte with you, Zorillo,” proposed 
Rivas. 

“Agreed, Don Ruperto,” was the ready reply. 

The cards were drawn out, and the queen and 
Jack placed face upwards on a blanket that had been 
spread upon the floor, and the play began. 

The dwarf was dealer ; and Rivas so contrived it 
that he should sit with his back to the window in 
fact, the only way that would give him sufficient light 
for his performance. 


152 


A DARING EPISTLE. 


Thus seated, with the huge frame of the Texan 
flanking him on one side, and Rivas on the other, a 
screen was obtained that left Kearney free to pursue 
his epistolary studies. 

Getting close to the wdndow, the latter at length 
unfolded the long-concealed letter and hastily made 
himself master of its coveted contents. 

It was, of course, in Spanish ; but this presented 
no difficulty to one who had been so well instructed 
in that language by the father of the lady who had 
written it : 

‘‘ O, Don Florencio ! — You cannot know how 
happy it made me to see you yesterday — distressed 
only to see you in such a situation. But this makes 
no difference to m.e ; for nothing they may do to you 
could ever disgrace you in my eyes. What would it 
have been to have looked upon you dead, as I had 
been told you were long since, and have endured all 
the suffering from believing it, same as if it had been 
true ? He led me to believe it — you knew who I mean 
— saying that in that duel he had given you a death- 
wound, or one that must kill you in time ! What a 
joy it is to find that I have been deceived, and know 


' A bARiNG EPISTLE. 


lo^ 

you yet live, though a prisoner in chains ! I knew you 
were alive before I saw you yesterday ; for I had 
made inquiries, and learnt that you were among those 
who had been lately brought in. As soon as I heard 
of it I lost no time in trying to procure your deliver- 
ance. I have done everything, and so has my father ; 
but, alas ! we have both been denied. I went myself 
to solicit for you, and saw the President — Santa Anna 
— in person. Don Florencio, I cannot tell you what 
passed. He spoke of letting you free, but upon con- 
ditions that were impossible for me to accept. I would 
rather die by your side ; and I know you would rather 
see me dead, and yourself perish in your chains, than 
accept your freedom at such a sacrifice.” 

Kearney’s breast heaved high with indignation as 
he read this passionate but womanly appeal. Had the 
chain been around his ribs instead of his ankle, it 
would have had a strain upon it to test its strength. 
He only quieted himself through fear of attracting the 
attention of the dwarf, and on perceiving that the 
sheet he held in his hand contained yet other writing. 

He read on : 

“ I will not conceal from you, Florencio, that I 


15i 


A DARING EPISTLE. 


have great fears for your safety. Your old enemy is 
here — you must have seen him yesterday. I know 
how he hates you, and will do everything to have you 
destroyed. He has the power to do so, and will use 
it. I tremble for you every hour that you remain in 
prison. You must be got out of it, Florencio, and I 
have a plan for your escape. I have a cousin who is 
to help me. You saw a lady with me yesterday in the 
carriage,'did you not? That is my cousin. There is 
a man chained to you, whom I do not know, but she 
does. It is Don Ruperto Rivas. Tell him that Ysabel 
Almonte is the one who is contriving with me for 
your escape, and he will do all he can to help us and 
you. And now for what we intend doing : To-morrow 
we two will drive down the street of San Francisco, 
past where you are at work. We shall be in a carriage 
with two horses. There will be no suspicion, as we 
go down that street every day on our way to the 
Paseo, only that to-morrow we shall go earlier, before 
the street gets crowded with other carriages. The 
horses will be put at a slow pace — a walk — while 
passing you. We have arranged all with our coach- 
man, Jose, who is Pepita’s sweetheart — you remember 
Pepita? If you and Don Ruperto will spring up into 


A daking epistle. 


155 


the carriage, we two will be terrified and rush out on 
the opposite side. You understand, Florencio ? You 
need not fear Jose. Ysabel and I have given him 
money, though he did not need this, and he has pro- 
vided some implements, which you will find under the 
cushions. He will drive you, but one of you must 
lean over and appear to force him. He says he can 
easily get through the gate, as the guard often lets 
him pass without stopping, knowing it to be father’s 
carriage. Once beyond, you can leave him with the 
carriage and take the horses on. My cousin says that 
Don Ruperto will know where to go when you get out 
into the country. 

“ Florencio, there will be danger — very great dan- 
ger — and I know it. But I know also there is more 
in your staying in prison. We have heard there are 
more Texan prisoners to be shot ; and I reed not tell 
you who would be the first. To-morrow, then, look 
for two ladies in a carriage coming down the street 
of San Francisco. Look for them at one o’clock, and 
pray for success to our attempt. To-morrow at one. 
Till then, dearest, adieu.” 

When Kearney communicated the contents of this 


156 


A DAKING EPISTLE. 


singular epistle to the man yoked to him, the emotion 
of the latter seemed almost uncontrollable. The 
name of Ysabel Almonte acted upon him like a spell, 
and from that moment he became as one inspired by 
some supernatural energy. 

. Both were equally excited and alike gratified. 
To both it was a sudden change from gloomy doubts 
and fears to a quick rekindling of hope. But an hour 
ago they looked upon death as almost certain, for it 
was foreshadowed by the presence of Santander. 
And now in the letter of Luisa Valverde they recog- 
nized the hand of Providence, who was sending two 
of his most beautiful angels to deliver them from their 
cruel captivity. 

They took counsel together, of course determining 
to abide by the programme so skillfully traced out for 
them. Only in one particular would they depart 
from it ; they would take Cris Rock along with them 
in their flight. Kearney would have consented to 
stay in his chains rather than leave the Texan behind 
— that brave comrade who would not have left 
him. 

The dwarf would have to be taken along too. 
But a carriage drawn by two strong horses should 


A DARING EPISTLE. 


157 


have room enough for all ; and though the additional 
weight might be some obstruction it could not even- 
tually hinder their escaping — if escape could be made 
at all. It was still a doubtful thing ; but it was a 
doubt they would use to the best possible advan- 
tage. 

During the half hour that preceded the bringing 
in their 'supper of black beans, Kearney found an 
opportunity of communicating to Cris Rock the con- 
tents of the letter, and the plans of action proposed. 
While doing so, the Texan was seen to chew some- 
thing that might have been a quid of tobacco, but 
which when expectorated upon the floor of the cell 
presented a white, pulpy appearance. Rock did not 
say what it was, but Kearney knew that it was the 
letter of Luisa Valverde. There was no longer any 
danger that it would betray them. 


158 


CHASED OUT OF THEIli CAlililAGE. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

CHASED OUT OF THEIR CARRIAGE. 

Once more in the street sewer toiled the chain- 
gang, its files stretching several hundred feet along 
the street. For this day, at least, three of the sewer 
cleaners seemed to be working with a will. Two of 
these were the Texans, Kearney and Cris Rock, the 
third was Rivas, the Mexican robber. 

They appeared to work almost too willingly, and 
had the sentry set over them been at all of an observ- 
ant turn he might have noticed their extra exertion 
and had some suspicions about it. He might have 
observed, moreover, as it came near the midday hour, 
that they often looked up from their work, darting 
quick glances along the street in the direction of the 
Plaza Grande. All three did this ; now one, and then 
another. Whatever it meant it was evident that all 
three of them were in the secret. The dwarf alone 
seemed ignorant of what the others were watching for, 
though once or twice his weasel-like eyes sparkled 


CHASED OUT OF THEIR CARRIAGE. 


159 


# 

with suspicion as he saw his companions looking so 
frequently in the same direction. These glances grew 
more frequent as it drew nearer to the hour of one, 
and when at length the great convent bell tolled out 
the unit they had become almost continuous. 

But the sewer cleaning was not discontinued. 
The men thus acting were not childish exhibitionists, 
and they kept on in the performance of their task 
with as much counterfeited industry as ever. The 
sentry, having found them all day so docile and well- 
behaved — a thing rather unusual — had withdrawn to 
some distance to get a light for his cigarrito. It 
seemed a propitious omen ; and as if fate had so 
intended it, at that very moment a carriage came in 
sight, rolling down the street of the Silversmiths into 
its continuation of that along San Francisco. There 
was a splendid stepper on each side of the pole — both 
being large, fine-blooded American horses — with a 
coachman seated on the box, in whose swarth, half- 
Indian features, Kearney conjectured that he saw the 
sweetheart of Pepita. But no conjecture was needed ; 
for in five minutes after, the carriage was near enough 
for him to see two ladies inside whom he easily recog- 
nized. 


160 


CHASED OUT OF THEIK CARRIAGE. 


His chain partner saw them at the same time, and 
with emotions not very dismal. Both were looking 
upon sweethearts that, by a sinister fate, had been 
long separated from them, and each recognized his 
own. 

As it drew near where they stood, the carriage 
gradually slackened its rate of speed. It seemed 
necessary — and a precaution on the part of its driver 
to avoid bringing the wheels in contact with the mud 
heap cast out from the sewer, as also the huge stone 
blocks used in bridging it. These, rolled to one side, 
occupied one half of the causeway, leaving but a nar- 
row passage between them and the foot-path. At this 
point a coachman driving slowly, was doing just what 
he should ; therefore no one could wonder, or even 
think it at all strange, that a splendid equipage, with 
a liveried coachman on the box,'and two fashionably- 
dressed ladies inside, should observe due caution in 
passing the defile. 

It did, and, soon after, something that might have 
seemed more than necessary ; for by the time it came 
opposite to the spot where the Texan prisoners were 
at work, it fairly crawled. A bystander might have 
supposed that its driver had gone to sleep, and he 


CHASED OUT OF THEIR CARRIAGE. 


161 


looked as careless as if he could. Different far looked 
the lady riders inside. In the eyes of both there was 
a strange sparkle of excitement which they seemed 
trying to suppress. It was as if they were being 
driven along the edge of a precipice, fearing at every 
turn of the wheels to be hurled headlong over it. 

And there were eyes watching them — three pairs — 
that showed as much strangeness of expression as 
theirs — only that it was different. It was that of fixed 
resolve, a determination ho do or die. 

The carriage came directly opposite and for an 
instant to a dead stop. The horses, despite their fine 
appearance, which should have bespoke fine training 
also, showed a disposition to balk, and there were 
signs of an incipient quarrel between them and their 
driver. 

“Now!” muttered Kearney, reaching down to 
assist Rivas out of the sewer, while Cris Rock heaved 
up out of it at the same instant. “ Now’s our time. 
Come on and keep close to me !” 

There was as much originality as strangeness in 
the scene that ensued— at least so thought those pass- 


162 


CHASED OUT OF THEIR CARRIAGE. 


ing along the street and who chanced to be spectators 
of it. 

Two men, frightfully besmeared with mud — 
scavengers belonging to the prison gang of the Acor- 
dada — chained leg and leg together, and together 
rushing from the side of the sewer in which they had 
been at work towards a private carriage passing along 
the street and occupied by two elegantly-dressed 
young ladies — seizing the handle of the carriage door 
that came easily open, and o«e after another springing 
up the steps into it, the young ladies, frightened by 
the brutal approach, both together slipping out on the 
opposite side, and standing for a moment, without cry 
or scream, as if too much paralyzed to speak ! All this 
was strangely original and held the beholders in sur- 
prise. 

Not less strange was the scene being simultane- 
ously enacted a little farther along, towards the front 
of the carriage, where a man of gigantic stature, with 
a deformed dwarf upraised in his arms, was seen to 
bound up to the box of the carriage, bearing his 
strange burden along with him ; as soon as he got 
there, chucking the latter between his feet, jerking 
whip and reins from the hands of the liveried driver, 


CHASED OUT OE THEIR CARRIAGE. 


163 


and with a liberal use of both starting the horses, first 
into a trot, and then urgiitg them on to a gallop. 

The whole scene resembled a dream rather than a 
real occurrence — some fantastic figuring of the imag- 
ination, The spectators might have fancied it such — 
even after the carriage had been whirled out of sight, 
but for two personages who had figured in it, and who 
were-still there before their eyes. These were the two 
young ladies who had been forced from their pleasant 
seats, and who now stood upon the side of the street, 
proclaiming, by their piteous cries, how real they at 
least believed it. 


164 


A KUNAWAY SPAN. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

A RUNAWAY SPAN. 

On tore the carriage along the street, with no one 
making any attempt to obstruct it. 

The escaping prisoners chanced to be at the end 
of the line of sentinels — the last being he who had 
especial charge of them. Busy with his paper cigar 
— just rolling a fresh one between his fingers, as the 
rush was made — the soldier was taken completely by 
surprise. Before he could recover himself and bring 
his firelock to the level, the carriage had swept past 
the spot where he stood ; and when, with unsteady 

aim, he at length pulled the trigger, it was to see 

% 

only a flash of powder from the pan of his old flint- 
lock musket. The gun had missed fire. 

His cries, sent along the street in shrill accents of 
alarm, drew the attention of his fellow-sentries, several 
of whom raised their guns simultaneously"; but not 
knowing at what to aim, they reserved their fire, 
shouting and interrogating one another along the 
whole line. 


A RUNAWAY SPAN. 


16'5 


Meanwhile the barouche, drawn by its splendid 
pair of bloods, was making way down the street, in 
the direction of the Acordada ! It might seem 
strange in the prisoners thus returning towards 
prison ; but they had no intention to stop there. 
They were only making to pass it, in order to get to 
one of the gates leading out into the open country. 

In that quarter there are two of them : San Cosme 
and the Nino Perdido. 

They are garitas, or custom-house stations, where 
the poor peasants, coming to market, must pay a tax 
on their commodities, called tho. alcavala. Each garita 
has its guard of soldiers — usually a sergeant or corpo- 
ral, with some half-a-dozen men — and one or other of 
these gates had to be passed. 

The Nino Perdido was the nearest, and yet it was 
not the one chosen by Ruperto Rivas, whose knowl- 
edge of the routes made him full manager of the 
flight. 

“Through San Cosme!” he cried, addressing 
himself to the driver ; and to San Cosme was the car- 
riage whirled along the smooth track of the Paseo, 
which they soon afterwards entered. 

It was odd to see a fashionable equipage out at that 


166 


A KDNAWAY SPAN. 


early hour — strange to see it going at such speed, as 
if the horses had run away — and stranger still the 
grotesque tableau on the box. But the Paseo was not 
yet occupied by its afternoon promenaders ; and 
while the carriage was rolling along the deserted drive 
the Texan found an opportunity of, to a certain extent, 
taming down the grotesqueness, so that the group 
upon the box became less likely to attract attention. 

This Vas effected by means of a striped blanket, or 
serape^ belonging to the coachman, that had been 
folded up and carried on the cushion underneath him. 
Spread over Cris Rock’s shoulders, it formed a partial 
disguise ; while the dwarf, jammed in under the seat, 
and there held by the massive limbs to which he was 
chained, was no longer seen, and therefore no longer 
in danger of betraying them by his hideous presence. 

The garita of San Cosme is close to the end of the 
Paseo, beyond which runs the aqueduct extending on 
to Chapultepec, without any houses. The carriage- 
road is parallel to the stone structure, the arches of 
which rise up out of the causeway. If they could once 
get past the garita, they would have the clear country 
road before them, without anything in front to be 
afraid of. 


A RUNAWAY SPAN. 


167 


They had got close to the garita, and still heard 
nothing of the pursuit behind. The soldiers lounging 
about the gate saw a carriage coming along, but with- 
out any suspicion as to the character of its occupants. 
They only thought it a little strange that any one 
should be on the drive at that hour of the day, and 
they noticed that the horses were going at an unusual 
rate of speed. 

As it drew nearer, the livery and horses were rec- 
ognized by the sergeant of the guard, who had often 
seen it while on duty at the palace. He knew it to 
belong to a member of the government, and his con- 
clusion was that it was en route for Tacubaya, where 
the President had a country-house, and where he 
perhaps was at the time. Under such an impression 
he would have permitted the carriage to pass unchal- 
lenged ; but just at that crisis a gun was fired from 
the Acordada, which was quickly responded to by 
another from the Citadela, the latter standing contig- 
uous to the drive of the Paseo. They were guns of 
alarm and warning, and soldiers and sentinels under- 
stood them as a signal for them to treat everything 
with suspicion. 

In an instant the San Cosme guard was under 


168 


A RUNAWAY SPAN. 


arms ; and as the carriage was the only thing in 
sight, upon it the eyes of all became concentrated. 

Perhaps, had time been allowed them for closer 
scrutiny, it could never have passed the gate. There 
was not. Only the guard sergeant and another had 
caught sight of something to arouse their suspicions, 
and the two together sprang out from the line, 
intending to seize the heads of the horses. Before 
either could lay a hand upon the reins, there came a 
double crack from the inside of the carriage, and both 
sergeant and soldier went tumbling over in the middle 
of the road ! 

Paralyzed as much by the sudden surprise as by 
fear, their comrades stood for a time without any 
action ; and then irresolutely, and without taking aim, 
discharged their pieces. Most of the shots were 
delivered in the air — two only striking the carriage 
and shaving its panels. But none of its occupants 
received any injury, and the horses were unharmed. 

The carriage swept on through the garita, the 
wheels bounding over the prostrate bodies that seemed 
struggling to get out of the way, while the horses, 
sniffing the fresh country air, and as if sensible of 
having escaped from some terrible danger, together 


A RUNAWAY SPAN. 


169 


gave out a shrill heigh as they tore on along the road 
towards Tacubaya. 

“ How thoughtful of our sweethearts to put these 
pistols in the carriage,” said Ruperto Rivas. “ But 
for them we should have been stopped to a certainty. 
It’s just like my quick-witted Ysabelita. Hi ! here’s 
something more ! Only think of it ! The dear crea- 
tures ! Heaven blqss them both !” 

The allusion was to a large hammer — a sort of . 
sledge — the handle of which was seen protruding from 
under a cushion, with another implement beside it 
which proved to be a cold chisel ! 

‘ Indeed,” rejoined Kearney, with delighted sur- 
prise, ‘‘ they have thought of everything. Hadn’t we 
better make use of these implements at once?” 

“A little further on ; we haven’t got start enough 
yet. If the dragoons get mounted at the citadel they’ll 
be hot after. There goes another gun — and hark ! 
there goes a gun from Chapultepec ! I didn’t think of 
it. They’ll get down from the castle in time to head 
us off. Carrambo 

The exclamation was uttered in a tone somewhat 
despairing. No wonder. The road along which they 
were running passes close under the hill upon which 


170 


A RUNAWAY SPAN. 


stands Chapultepec castle — at the time a military 
school as well as fortification. The alarm guns 
from the city had set its garrison on the alert, and 
from its high ramparts a view could be had of the 
whole aqueduct road, with the carriage coming upon 
it. The officers on duty could scrutinize the latter 
through their glasses, and see that it was not carrying 
a peaceful diplomatist. 

They seemed to have come to this conclusion 
already, for the shrill notes of a bugle could be heard 
sounding the “assembly,” and soon after the “for- 
ward.” 

“There’s a troop coming down upon the road,” 
said Rivas. “They will be certain to intercept us.” 

“What’s to be done?” inquired Kearney, while 
Cris Rock at the same time called out that he saw 
signs of danger ahead. 

“We must leave the carriage and take to the fields. 
Drive like the demon for two hundred yards farther. 
I know a cross path, where we can take the horses 
along with us. It’ll be better, any way. Whip up !” 

Rock jerked the whip out of the hand of the 
coachman, and laid it vigorously upon the horses. 


A RUNAWAY SPAN. 


171 


The splendid animals scarce needed this incitement ; 
they were going fast before, and now fairly flew. 

“There! pull them up. There’s the cross road. 
Out, every one, and off with the harness 1” 

In an instant the carriage was empty. Rock having 
sprung down from the box, dragging the dwarf along 
with him. The coachman also alighted, seemingly 
obeying the orders of the Texan, without daring to 
make resistance. In a few seconds the horses were 
set free from the pole, and the harness whipped off, all 
except the bridles. 

“ There’s no chance to get parted here,” said 
Rivas. “It will take too much tirrie to cut these 
heavy chains. We must go p/i as we are, in hopes of 
finding a better opportunity.” 

As he spoke he handed the hammer to the Texan, 
who stuck it behind his belt, Rivas himself appropri- 
ating the chisel. 

“ One thing before we leave, for appearances,” he 
whispered into Kearney’s ear, at the same time nod- 
ding towards the coachman. “ We must leave him 
bound.” 

It was but the work of a moment, for the hint was 
given to Rock, who, as a Texan, was handy with 


172 


A RUNAWAY SPAN. 


ropes. The long carriage rein was detached, and in 
ten seconds after, the Mexican coacjiee, with half a 
dozen coils of it around him, stood like Ixion fast 
bound to a wheel. 

“Mount!” cried the robber. “ You, Senor Cristo- 
foro, take the off horse, and keep close after us. Now, 
Don Florencio, are you ready to ride double ?” 

“Ready,” was the reply ; and both sprang together 
to the back of the horse. 

At the same moment Rock straddled over the 
other, jerking the dwarf up behind and flinging him 
like a bundle across the croup. 

“ Stick like a cat !” he cried. “And, durn you, if 
you gie trouble I’ll br^in you wi’ this hammer.” 

“ All ready !” cried Rivas. And at the word away 
went both horses at a gallop, no longer along the 
main road to Tacubaya, but by a bridle-path leading 
in the direction of Coyoacan. 


DOUBLE MOUNTED. 


173 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

•# 

DOUBLE MOUNTED. 

The peaceful laborers in the maize fields of Coyo- 
acan, and the lone thachequero extracting the sap from 
the maguey, saw a sight that surprised and startled 
them. Two large horses, each with a couple of men 
upon its back, going in full gallop along the quiet 
country roads as if running a race. And such horses, 
and such men ! What could it mean ? 

They had scarce time to ask the question before 
the strange racers had passed and disappeared behind 
gigantic cacti and straggling pepper-trees, into a 
thicket-like tract of which last they at length entered. 

“ Thanks, blessed Virgin !” exclaimed Rivas, now 
for the first time breathing freely. “ I think, com- 
rades, we may consider ourselves safe. Five hundred 
yards farther on and we shall change horses.” 

“ What, have you a relay ?” asked Kearney. 

“ Not exactly that,” answered the robber, with a 


174 


DOUBLE MOUNTED. 


laugh ; “ something that will prove quite as service- 
able to us. You shall see.” 

Kearney was surprised, or rather mystified, by the 
speech; Could his chain-companion have had com- 
munication -with any one outside the prison other 
than that known to him ? Perhaps some of his band 
had been by the sewer, at an earlier hour of the day, 
and received telegraphic signs. It seemed as if there 
had been something of the kind ; and yet why should 
his fellow-prisoner not have told him of it ? 

Could it be that the ladies had prepared further 
plans — some sort of under-ground train by which they 
were to continue their journey towards freedom ? 

They had not said a word that Kearney had 
heard ; but it might be that one of them had whis- 
pered som.ething to his companion, or signalled it. 
The dark damsel,' who desired to be remembered to 
him, might have done this. 

Kearney could no longer restrain his curiosity. 

“Where are you making for ?” he asked. “To the 
mountains ?” 

“ To the mountains, of course !” 

“ I fear we shall not be able to reach them before 


DOUBLE MOUNTED. 


175 


they overtake us. The nearest mountain slope 
appears to be miles off.” 

“ It is miles off. Our horses will soon break down. 
Weighted as they are, they can’t keep up this pace 
much longer. You hear that bugle behind us ?” 

“I do; and I know well what it means. The 
troopers have got upon our track. Those corn- 
weeders have told them which way we went. I 
thought I’d made a turn that would have thrown 
them out a bit. No matter ; we shall yet be in time. 
And here we are at our changing place.” 

The only sign of a changing place Kearney could 
perceive was a steep escarpment of rock covered with 
cactus and other spinous plants. It was certainly a 
stopping place, as it traversed the country right and 
left, and far as the eye could reach in a direction 
crosswise to that in which they had approached. 
They had been following no road, for they had left 
this on entering among the pepper-trees ; nor was 
there sign of a path beyond. The wall of dark gray 
lava-rock rose twenty feet sheer above the level of the 
plain, though here and there its fapade was fissured, 
some of the rents showing an inclination up which its 
summit might be reached after a scramble. 


176 


DOUBLE MOUNTED. 


‘‘The Pedregal exclaimed the robber, reining 
short up as he spoke. “// is to be our city of refuge — 
for .the present. Dismount — all of you !” 

He set the example by slipping off himself, simul- 
taneously with his chain companion. Rock followed 
it, jerking the hunchback down along with him. 

“ I fear we won’t have time here either,” said the 
robber, glancing uneasily at the chain impediments. 
“ No ! There’s that bugle again. They can’t be quite 
half a mile behind us. We must go in couples a little 
further. Come, Don Florencio ; keep close to me ; 
and you, Sehor Cristoforo, bring your handsome baby 
along with you. You’ll have to nurse it a little 
longer.” 

He had faced towards the rock wall as if to scale 
it, when a thought suggested itself. It was a purpose 
he had conceived ^for throwing the pursuers off the 
track and so gaining a little time. 

“It’s just possible,” he said, half speaking to him- 
self, “that these gi'ingos in pursuit of us may be 
delayed a little by our stampeding the horses. There’s 
no harm in trying it, since it won’t take us much 
time. Don Florencio, take hold of that bit rein and 
turn that horse’s head towards the opening you see 


DOUBLE MOUNTED. 


177 


there along the base of the cliff. Keep him steady 
till I play a little prank upon him.” 

Kearney did as directed, though not knowing for 
what purpose. It was soon made manifest by the 
robber striking one of the great spinous lobes from a 
cactus plant with the butt of his pistol, and after a 
cautious approach, inserting it under the tail of the 
horse. 

“Let go,” he cried, and at the word the animal, 
startled into mad surprise by the pricking of the 
spines, set off in full career along the way it was 
intended he should go. The other, cruppered in a 
similar fashion by Cris Rock, was not slow to follow, 
and in a few seconds both were out of sight, though 
the clatter of their hoofs could’ be heard long after, 
telling that the poisonous sting of the cactus was still 
urging them to continue their wild gallop. 

“ Now, comrades, let us enter the Pedregal !” cried 
Rivas.; and the next moment he was scrambling up 
the sloping rift of the rocks, Kearney close after him. 

The Texan ascended next ; but instead of waiting 
for his hunchback to follow him afoot, he lifted the 
deformed creature in his arms and swung him up to 


178 


DOUBLE MOUNTED. 


the summit of the rock as if he had been a bundle of 
crooked sticks ! 

Over a surface that might resemble the hearthstone 
of some ancient Tophet, they for some time made 
progress, here climbing, there descending,’now squeez- 
ing themselves between cracks in the cooled lava, anon 
worming their way through thickets of mezcal and 
mezquite. 

When they had put some half mile of this tortuous 
track between themselves and the point where they 
had entered the Pedregal, Rivas came to a stop, his 
chain companion perforce doing the same. The 
Texan, close upon their heels, leading the dwarf like a 
cur dog upon his chain, at times compelled to carry 
him, was but too glad to think the disagreeable jour- 
ney was about to terminate. 

The spot where they had pulled up was in the 
bottom of a deep dell or rift in the lava-field, where 
some thin scattering of earth supported a growth of 
the singular species of acacia known as the “ sensitive 
plant.” 

“I don’t think they can hear us now,” said the 
robber. “ And as we’ve worn this jewelry long 
enough, suppose we get rid of it 


DOUBLE MOUNTED. 


179 


“Agreed to that — this chile air,” said the Texan; 
and there was no one to dissent. 

Cris had the chisel and hammer which had been so 
considerately provided — the latter no light geological 
implement, but a stout sledge-looking weapon, well 
suited for the work. Rivas and Kearney between 
them held the chain, placing its middle link over a 
hollow crevice in the rock. A cut or two of the chisel 
and then a heavy blow of the hammer bent it ; and 
being turned, it was bent in the reverse direction, until 
after repeated turnings the iron cracked and came 
apart. 

“Well, Don Florencio,” remarked the robber, 
speaking in a tone of mock gravity. I hope friend- 
ship’s chain between us will not be so easily parted.” 

The young Irishman could not help reciprocating 
the hope. 

It would have taken too much time to strike the 
fragments of the chain from off their ankles ; each 
took his own piece in hand, stowing the loose ends' 
away behind the waistbands of their trousers. 

Rivas now handled the hammer, and by a similar 
process separated the giant from the dwarf. But 
Rock had taken care that the severed link should be 


180 . 


DOUBLE MOUNTED. 


that nearest to his leg, leaving more than three-fourths 
of the fetter still attached to that of his late prison 
companion. 

Not more than twenty minutes were thus con- 
sumed ; at the end of which time the fugitives recom- 
menced their march, or rather scramble, across the 
Pedregal. 

But now there were only three of them — Rivas, 
Rock, and Kearney. The hunchback had been left 
behind at the place where the chains had been severed, 
though not until the others had held a short consul- 
tation as to what should be done with him. There 
was no thought of taking him along — only a fear that 
by setting him free he might in some way damage 
their chances of escape. 

“ No,” said the robber, after reflecting upon 
it. “ I don’t see how he can do us any harm. By 
the time our pursuers can get this far — if, indeed, 
they ever recover our trails — we shall be beyond 
reach of their pursuit. Leave him where he is.” 

‘‘ Durn the reptyle !” exclaimed Rock. “ I feel like 
scrunchin’ him under the heel o’ my boot. I know 
he’s a spy an’ treetor, an’ he desarves somethin’ done 
to him I” 


DOUBLE MOUNTED, 


181 


“ No, no, Rock !” remonstrated Kearney. “ Leave 
the poor creature alone !” 

“ Wal, Capt’n, if you say so. I’m bound to comply, 
but—” 

Kearney, following the robber, had started on- 
ward without waiting to hear the conclusion of the 
speech. 

“ But,” continued the Texan, now talking to him- 
self, or rather to the deformed semblance of humanity 
at his feet, “before I go, you ugly varmint. I’ll gie 
you a bit o’ a kick, jest by way o’ makin’ you remem- 
ber me. So hyar’s for it.” 

The giant stood with his toe poised, intending to 
carry out his threat, when a thought seemed to strike 
him. It was not one of mercy — only a change in the 
ceremony of his leave-taking. 

Suddenly stooping down, he caught hold of the 
piece of chain — some six feet in length — still attached 
to the ankle of the dwarf, and jerking him up at the end 
of it, he swung him round and round, like a gaucho get- 
ting ready his bolos for a cast. After giving him three 
or four gyrations, he let go the chain, leaving the 
human weight to carry itself where chance might 
direct. Projected several yards from its centre of cen- 


182 


DOUBLE MOUNTED. 


trifugal force, it fell among the acacia bushes, whose 
branches, breaking down under the weight, covered it 
out of sight. 

“You stay thar !'^ cried Cris Rock, as he let go the 
chain ; and then turning, he strode off over the rocks 
on the track taken by his companions. 


SKULKIJSG AFTER 


183 


CHAPTER XXV. 

SKULKING AFTER. 

Gathering his deformed body out of the bushes 
into which Cris Rock had swung it, the dwarf shook 
himself, and for a short while stood undecided how to 
act. 

If his person was crooked and unprepossessing, 
his intellect was straight enough — keen and clear as 
if he had been the handsomest of men. 

Quick flashed upon his mind various motives to 
inspire him to rapid action. Which was the best 
course for him to adopt ? 

Should he conceal himself among the bushes, or 
skulk into some crevice of the rock ? By doing either 
he might avoid discovery by the pursuers, and so 
escape being recaptured and carried back to the 
Acordada. 

On the other hand, by keeping his place, and 
standing boldly forth — by acting, moreover, as a fin- 
ger-post to point the pursuit— telling the way in 


184 


SKULKING AFTER. 


which his late fellow-prisoners had gone — he might 
obtain consideration and mercy. 

He could almost make sure of this. He had been 
himself but an involuntary fugitive, and could easily 
show it. He could tell something besides that would 
give him a claim to State clemency and a full pardon. 

After a moment’s consideration he felt quite con- 
vinced of this. 

Another moment, and a thought suggested itself 
that gave promise of still further strengthening such 
claim — in short, of increasing it, so as to make him 
worthy of a reward. His late fellow-prisoners, after 
forsaking him, had started off along a track where the 
cavalry soldiers coming up could not follow them, not 
even if they dismounted and continued the pursuit on 
foot. Among the rocks and ravines of the Pedregal, 
pursuit would be impossible, or worse. If not abso- 
lutely dangerous, it would be at least ridiculous. 

To the dwarf it would be different. He had passed 
through the lava-field before — more than once — many 
times. He knew all its paths and passes — its twist- 
ings and turnings. A labyrinth to. others, it was to 
him a known ground, and he needed no clew to guide 
him through its mazes. 


SKULKING AFTER. 


185 


What, then, if he should follow the fugitives — fol- 
low and watch them to their final halting or hiding- 
place, then return and report it to the powers behind ? 

By doing so he would still be sure of free pardon, 
and might expect something besides. Considering 
the character of the prisoners, and the circumstances 
connected with their escape — some of the strangest 
only known to himself — he could not help knowing 
that he was the depository of a secret that would give 
him a certain power over more than one well-known 
individual. 

It was only a question of the wisest way to make 
use of it. 

Merely pointing out the direction in which the 
fugitives had gone, might not do much for him. If 
he could but follow and find out whither they had 
gone, and where they might be found afterwards, that 
would be information of a much more valuable kind, 
and more likely to bring him a reward. 

For this reason did he desire to make himself capa- 
ble of giving it, even had their been no other. 

But there was another reason, and one ten times 
stronger. It was the prompting of a terrible revenge. 
He was angry with all three of his late prison asso- 


1S6 


SKULKING AFTER. 


ciates ; but especially so with him who had shared 
with him the chain now severed. He had long smarted 
under the scornful reproaches of Cris Rock, who was 
too honest to conceal the contempt he felt for him ; — 
but now, at the last hour, that parting fling ! The 
thought of it stung him to madness and determined 
him to take steps for obtaining revenge. 

Revenge was now the first and uppermost thought 
in his mind, and how to accomplish it the chief exer- 
cise of his intellect. 

“If I can but follow and find where they go,” was 
his reflection, as he watched them scrambling over the 
rocks ; “ if I can track them to their hiding-place — ” 

He did not stay to finish the speech. It may have 
been finished in his thoughts ; but, whether or not, it 
prompted him in the action that resulted. 

Gliding out from among the bushes, he sprang up 
to the impending rock, and far more easily than any 
of the others, lifted himself upon the ledge. 

Then crawling over the crest of the cliff, he con- 
tinued on through the Pedregal, here diving down 
into crevices and ravines, there climbing up steep 
escarpments with an agility far superior to that of 
those who had preceded him. A bird looking down 


SKULKING AFTER. 


187 


from above would have witnessed a strange scene on 
the scored and corrugated surface of lava. Three men 
hastening across it, making all the speed in their 
power — here springing across deep, dark clefts, or 
descending into them on one side and climbing out on 
the other — now running over smooth, table-like sur- 
faces of naked rocks, anon creeping cautiously through 
thickets of thorny trees — behind them, at a distance 
of about two hundred yards, another form following, 
apparently pursuing, and evidently not wishing to be 
seen by the pursued ; a form only half human, but so 
much the more hideous and horrible. Was it a man 
dwarfed and deformed ? or was it a gigantic ape ? 

But for some rags of clothing hanging over its 
hunched shoulders it might easily have been mistaken 
for the latter. Still was it human, stirred by human 
instincts, and guided by the promptings of a man’s 
violent passion — revenge. 


iss 


ON UP THE MOUNTAINS. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

ON UP THE MOUNTAINS. 

After leaving their deformed prison companion 
behind them the three fugitives continued on through 
the strange* lava tract on which they had entered. 
The robber acted as guide and conductor. He seemed 
to know every crack and crevice that gave a path 
across the Pedregal. This was often so tortuous 
that hundreds of yards had to be traversed in making 
the distance of a stone’s throw. The daylight still 
favored them, however, and they were no lo,nger com- 
pelled to go skulkingly. Rivas assured them that 
there was no danger of meeting any one there — cer- 
tainly no one would dare to molest them. They 
were upon ground where cavalry could not come ; 
and even if their pursuers knew the route they had 
taken they could neither follow nor intercept them. 

With enough of toil, but with no fears, they kept 
on during the remainder of the afternoon, still making 
for the mountains. These rose directly up from 


ON UP THE MOUNTAINS. 


189 


the farther side of the lava-field, their highest summit, 

* 

Ajurco, towering skyward before their faces. It 
was toward this mountain their robber guide was 
conducting them, promising them rest and refuge at 
some place high up on its wooded slope. 

Night overtook them as they got across the Pedre- 
gal ; but there was a moon that enabled them to con- 
tinue their journey, and under her mellow light they 
commenced ascending the slopes of the Sierra. It 
was an ascent that occupied them till after midnight, 
and up into the hours of morning. 'It was toilsome 
and devious, now upward along steep, slippery paths, 
now down into dark defiles, rock-bound and forest- 
shadowed, with hoarse torrents rushing along their 
beds. 

But there was no uncertainty, conducted by such 
a guide. He appeared familiar with every track and 
turning, every rock and tree encountered along the 
route. 

All at once, while they were walking under the 
shadow of a forest of the long-leaved pines, he came 
to a stop, signing to them to do the same. Placing 
his fingers over his mouth, he gave forth a sound 
that resembled the cry of an animal, and one that 


190 


ON UP THE MOUNTAINS. 


Cris Rock kne^ well ; for it was also to be heard 
amidst the jungles of Texas. It was the cat-like 
scream of the cougar, known throughout the North by 
the mistaken appellation of panther, or the “painter,” 
as Cris would have called it. In the mountains of 
Mexico it it a “lion ” — a name equally a misnomer. 

Their robber guide, having imitated its call, stood - 
listening as if expectant of an answer. None came ; 
and he repeated the signal, and again stood silent 
awaiting the reply. There was a response, but it was 
not the call of the cougar. Instead, there was the 
voice of another wild animal to wake up the echoes 
of the woods. The bark of a coyote wolf, continued 
into a prolonged howl, came back through the trunks 
of the trees. 

“All right!” said the robber, on hearing it. “My 
old comrades are still here, and I’m glad to find, still 
keeping up their discipline. Come on Senoras, we 
shall soon get rest and sleep.” 

Kearney and Rock followed without making 
remark. Both were by this time so terribly fatigued 
that they could have lain down upon the mountain 
side, and slept without thought of blanket to cover or 
roof to shelter them. They were overjoyed at the 


ON UP THE MOUNTAINS. 


191 


prospect of having both — for both had their guide 
promised them. 

In ten minutes after they found themselves follow- 
ing him through what appeared a weed-grown garden 
with terraced walks and tottering, decayed seats ; 
then amidst ruined walls, half hidden under garlands 
of creeping convolvuli. Their footsteps rang upon a 
floor of flags that formed the pavement of an inclosed 
court-yard ; and through this they were conducted 
into a large hall, with a long table and benches set in 
its centre, and a solitary lamp burning upon the 
table. The lamp, fed with oil, threw its dim reflec- 
tion upon what appeared to be the remains of a 
supper of which many guests had partaken. Now 
the guests were gone to bed, and three or four 
shadowy forms flitted around the table, whose dress 
and demeanor bespoke them to be servants. 
Their dark skins also told them to be Indians. One 
differed from the rest. It was he who had received 
the fugitives on their approach to the premises — the 
same who had answered the signal. His skin was 
white, while his actions proclaimed him to be a com- 
rade of the robber — one of his band. 

On recognizing his chief, whom they had no 


192 


ON UP THE MOUNTAINS 


doubt given up as lost, he gave vent to a wild out- 
burst of joy, continued in a loud apostrophe. The 
members of the band were asleep. Should he awake 
them to join his congratulations ? 

“ No, Gregorio ; not to-night,” said the restored 
chief ; “ my friends here are fatigued, and hungry too. 
Get us something to eat, and then all of us to bed. 
On the morrow we may talk over our escape.” 

A fresh touch was given to the lamp, which, flaring 
brighter, showed still upon the table sufficient to sat- 
isfy the appetites of three of the hungriest of men. 
There were corn cakes, cold mutton, and the bones of 
a broiled turkey, which their predecessors at the 
supper table had not entirely stripped of the white, 
tender flesh. 

The attendants produced a skin of pulque and a 
bottle of Catalan brandy ; and the fugitives soon re- 
freshing themselves, were ready for their couches. 

To them they retired, the robber chief knowing his 
own, while Kearney and the Texan, consigned to the 
charge of two Indian attendants, were conducted 
to separate apartments, where in less than ten minutes’ 
time both were buried in a slumber so profound that 
only an earthquake could have awakened them. 


QUARTEKED IN A CONVENT. 


193 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

QUARTERED IN A CONVENT. 

When Kearney awoke in the morning a band of 
yellow light slanting across the floor of his sleeping- 
chamber told him that the sun was well up in the 
heavens. It came through a narrow aperture more 
resembling the gun embrasure of a fortress than the 
window of a dwelling. There was enough of it, how- 
ever, to reveal every object around him ; and still lying 
stretched upon the catre^ or couch, he commenced an 
examination of the singular apartment in which he 
had passed the latter portion of the night. 

It was a mere cell, of about nine feet in length by 
six in width. 

But plainly it was not the cell of a pHson. There 
was no furniture, excepting a rude wooden chair and 
the dilapidated leathern tester on which he lay. But 
where the plaster remained on the walls he could per- 
ceive that it had not only been smoothly laid, but had 
served as the ground for a series of scenic paintings. 


19tl: QUARTERED IN A CONVENT. 

They were defaced, and in parts missing where the 
mortar had crumbled off ; but saintly robes and bare, 
sandalled feet, here and there a crucifix, and at one 
end a full-length likeness of the virgin, Gaudalope, 
with the aureole around her head, still in a tolerable 
state of preservation, proclaimed the character of the 
chamber, and the use to which in past days it had 
been put. He was in the cloister of a monastery or 
convent. 

That it was an abandoned one he could see. The 
dilapidation told this ; besides, he had been brought 
there by a robber. 

There was a little grotesqueness in the’ reflection 
that he had just escaped from one monastery to find 
refuge in another ; for it must be remembered that 
the Acordada had been also once a dwelling of the 
Religious Brotherhood. 

With no intention of becoming a monk, he was 
getting initiated into convent life in Mexico. 

Though he had slept tolerably well, he yet felt 
fatigued after the almost superhuman exertions of the 
previous day and night. 

His arms and legs were both painfully stiff, the 
first from scrambling over and scaling the lava ledges, 


QUARTERED IN A CONVENT. 


195 


the last from the long climb of the steep mountain 
slopes. 

His reflections were that it was no use getting up 
till he should be called. Some one would no doubt 
come in to summon him to breakfast. He was a little 
hungry, being too much done up on the night before 
to eat heartily of supper ; and he hoped that a matu- 
tinal meal would be forthcorriing. 

He remained on his couch, scanning the figures 
on the walls, and tracing their saintly outlines. It 
was a curious study, and he had strange thoughts. 
Here were niches, and in one were the fragments of a 
broken image — saint or sinner. It was so shattered 
he could not tell which. He wondered who had done 
devotion before it — whether man or woman, monk or 
nun. Perhaps some beautiful vestal had once occu- 
pied the cell, and reposed her delicate limbs upon the 
rude couch on which he was reclining. She must 
have been in a beatified state if she believed it soft, 
was his jocular reflection. 

His eyes ever and anon rested on the picture of the 
patroness, saint of Mexico, gracefully robed in a dra- 
pery of sky-blue, bespangled with silver stars. She is 
usually thus represented in Mexican paintings of her. 


196 


QUARTERED IN A CONVENT 


and always with a lovely countenance. Kearney, as 
he gazed upon it, fancied he could trace some resem- 
blance to the face of Luisa Valverde. She seemed 
smiling upon him from the wall, as if saying: “You 
see how I have rescued and protected you.” 

It was happiness to know that he had escaped from 
a loathsome prison, with its dirt and degradation, but 
supreme pleasure to reflect upon the means by which 
he had been set free. If the portrait upon the wall 
had been Luisa Valverde in person, he could have 
fallen at her feet and poured forth his soul in a grati- 
tude strong as worship itself. 

He had fallen into a reverie of pleasant thoughts, 
from which he was aroused by hearing the door creak- 
ing back upon its rusty hinges. A man came in, who 
at first sight seemed a stranger to him. He was a 
splendid looking fellow, dressed in full ranchero cos- 
tume ; embroidered cloth jacket, trousers of green vel- 
veteen, slashed and buttoned along the seams, a scarf 
of scarlet China crape wound around his waist, and on 
his head a black glaze hat, with a heavy band of gold 
bullion. 

But the man was no stranger to him. It was only 
the dress that had misled him. The face of olive hue 


QUARTERED IN A CONVENT. 


197 


now clear and bright in all its classic beauty, was that 
of his late prison partner, Ruperto Rivas. 

There was another man behind of darker hue, and 
evidently a servant, who carried over his arm what 
appeared to be a suit of clothes. And this it was — a 
full set of apparel of the true Mexican style of tailor- 
ing ; not very dissimilar to that which the robber wore 
upon his own person. 

“ Sehor Don Florencio,” said the latter, after bid- 
ding good morning to his guest, “ if I mistake not you 
would not object to a change of linen, and a some- 
what more becoming style of dress than what you’ve 
been wearing in the Acordada ?” 

The grin given by Kearney as he glanced at his 
ragged prison apparel was a sufficient answer in the 
affirmative. 

“ They are here, then ; see if they will fit you.” 

Kearney started up to try them on. 

‘‘ A basin and some water, boy !” said the host, 
turning to the Indian who carried the clothes. “ My 
friend requires a wash.” 

The water was brought in a pan of red pottery, 
and along with it a coarse but clean towel. It was 
the first that had touched the young Irishman’s skin 


198 


QUARTERED IN A CONVENT. 


for weeks, and as he performed his ablutions the sen- 
sation was delightful. 

Instructed and assisted by his host, his toilet was 
soon made, and he stood clothed from head to foot in 
a suit of Mexican habiliments almost as rich and 
picturesque as those of the robber chief himself. 

“ Now, let us to breakfast,” said Rivas. “We holy 
brothers,” he continued, in a jocular tone, “ eat 
together in the refectory. Come, Sefior Florencio, 
let me introduce you to the fraternity — the monks of 
Mont Ajusco — and jolly friars, I fancy, you will find 
them. At all events, I think I can promise you more 
cheerful company than what we’ve both had in the 
last convent where we made stay. Come along, 
Sefior.” 

So saying, he led the way out of the little dormi- 
tory, his late fellow-prisoner following close upon his 
heels. 


THE JOLLY FRIARS IN THE REFECTORY. 199 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE JOLLY FRIARS IN THE REFECTORY. 

A large, dilapidated hall, with a long slab table 
and wooden benches around it, was the breakfast 
room into which Florence Kearney was conducted. 
It was the same apartment in which they had eaten 
their hurried supper, though the table now exhibited 
a more attractive garniture. Kearney looked neither 
at the apartment nor its furniture. There was enough 
withom these to occupy his attention, which was en- 
grossed by the company assembled. Standing in 
groups over the floor, a few seated on the slab benches, 
were about thirty individuals — all men, though of 
different ages and many varieties of dress — though 
most of them were habited in the splendid costume of 
the country known as the ranchero. In the centre of 
one of the largest groups was a man who overtopped 
them all by a head, and the greater number of them 
by a portion of the shoulders as well. The face, visible 
even above the crowns of their hats — for some of them 


200 THE JOLLY FKIAliS IN THE KEFECTORY. 

were hatted — was not new to Florence Kearney, who 
at a glance recognized in it the countenance of his old 
comrade — Cris Rock. 

The Texan giant had also got himself rigged out 
in a new suit of clothes. Upon his legs he wore 
simply the wide cotton under-drawers, since there 
could not be found a pair of the velveteen pantaloons 
that would admit his enormous limbs ; and as the 
sleeve of the biggest jacket the robber wardrobe con- 
tained would not have allowed his fist to pass through 
it, he had to content himself with a blanket thrown 
loosely over his shoulders. But this was sufficient for 
Cris, and in the midst of his new associates he was 
swaggering about, swinging the blanket from side to 
side, and seeming happy as a king, 

As Kearney came into the room he was in the act 
of smoking a Mexican cheroot, talking loudly, and 
evidently entertaining the company to the top of their 
bent. 

Mornin’, Cap !” he said, stepping out from the 
circle of his admiring audience and advancing towards 
his former captain. “ Hope you feel all right an’ squar. 
This chile do, an’ no mistake. Durn it, these air a lot 
of fust-rate fellurs. • I didn’t think thar was sech 


THE JOLLY FRIARS IN THE REFECTORY. 201 


among all the yeller skins o’ Mexico. An’ what do 
you think — they aint robbers^ arter all.” 

“Not robbers?” asked the young Irishman, in a 
subdued voice, and with a surprised but pleased 
expression upon his countenance. 

“Durn the robber among ’em !” 

“ What are they, then, Cris ?” 

“Wal, they call ’emselves monks and friars an’ 
that sort o’ thing. But thet’s only by way o’ fun. 
Burned strange, but there’s a fellur among ’em I used 
to know in Texas, down by San Antonio. Not a bad 
sort o’ a chap he air. He gin me the cloo o’ the hul 
bizness. They’re poleetikul refoogees — thet is, they air 
the outs while Santa Anner’s party are the iiis. They’ve 
been out for a good, longish spell, an’ hev had to keep 
thar stummuks supplied best way they kud ; but 
they’re now lookin’ forard to a purnunshamento, as they 
call it, the which they expect soon to kim on, and 
thet’ll make gentlemen o’ ’em again ; so they sez. No, 
Cap, I don’t think they air regoolar robbers — ne’er a 
one o’ ’em. ’Tall events, they don’t act or look like it. 
They hev been a treatin’ this chile like a gentleman. 
Look at the outfit they’^ve put me in.” 

Cris threw open his striped blanket, itself a superb 


202 


THE JOLLY FRIARS IN THE REFECTORY. 


one, showing underneath a snow-white shirt, a scarf 
of finest scarlet crape, with gold fringe at its ends, 
and a pair of handsome pistols stuck behind it. 

If they be robbers,” he added, “ this chile don’t 
objeck to epconter sech every day o’ his life — durned 
if he do !” 

There was no opportunity for further conversation 
between Kearney and his old comrade. The long 
table had by this time become garnished with dishes 
— the savory product of the convent kitchen — served 
by waiters of dark, copper-colored skins — all of the 
Indian race. At a signal, which was given by the 
tinkling of a bell, the miscellaneous company became 
seated, Ruperto Rivas taking the head of the table, 
with Kearney on his right, and the huge Texan flank- 
ing him on the left. 

For a time there was not much talk, only the rat- 
tle of cups and platters on the hard, unclothed table, 
and the smacking of lips, as of a host of hungry men 
partaking of a Homeric meal. It was, in truth, of this 
character. There were no knives nor forks — not even 
spoons. The pliable tortilla^ twisted scoop fashion, 
served for all three, with an adroit manipulation 
taking up the hash, the stewed tomatoes and the capsi- 


THE JOLLV FRIARS IN THE REFECTORY. 203 


cum sauce, and leaving the platters as clean as if 
licked by a spaniel. A huge jar of pulque stood upon 
the table, from which the guests helped themselves — 
each being provided with a calabash cup ; and when 
the meal came near its ending several long-necked 
bottles were brought into the room, containing 
cordials, Catalan brandy. Burgundy, and some with 
silver tops telling of champagne ! 

“ A toast !” cried Ruperto Rivas, filling his 
painted gourd-shell with the effervescing vintage of 
France. 

Kearney sat curiously listening. What would it 
be ? — the toast of a robber ! 

Rock’s reasoning had not convinced him. He 
still believed himself in the midst of a band of brig- 
ands — the guest of their chief. 

“ The toast !” shouted several around the table, 
filling their calabashes and holding them aloft. 

“ Dios y Libertad D (God and Liberty !) thundered 
their chief in a tone that seemed strange coming from 
the lips of a robber — so earnest and so solemn was 
it. 

“ God and liberty !” responded his comrades, in a 


204 THE JOLLY EKIARS IN THE REFECTORY. 

like serious tone; without any sign of jocularity or 
trifling. 

It could not be mockery — evidently these men' 
were in earnest ; so thought Kearney and Cris Rock. 
Other toasts followed, of different kinds and various 
degrees of solemnity. 

There was “ Mexico,” “ The Republic,” and 
“Death to the Dictator;” and then “Our Texan 
guests,” whom they hoped they would see enrolled in 
their ranks and form part of the fraternity of “ holy 
friars.” 

Kearney responded as a gentleman, giving satis^c- 
tion to his singular entertainers, but not enough to 
satisfy his Texan comrade, who, rising to his feet, and 
leaning like a bent colossus across the slab table, 
brought his bony knuckles down upon its timber like the 
stroke of a trip-hammer, vociferating and “ swarnin’ ” 
that “them war Cris Rock’s sentiments,” and that 
whether his new friends were robbers or not he 
would stand by them “ till death an’ durnation.” 

A Mexican breakfast bears considerable resem- 
blance to that of the French, and more like the pinner 
of other lands. The cup of coffee or chocolate and 
crackers after getting out of bed is only the desaytma 


THE JOLLY FRIARS IN THE REFECTORY. 


205 


(dejeuner). The real breakfast begins at eleven, often 
lasting over an hour. That in the old monastery, 
where Ruperto Rivas was prior, with his jolly monks 
for companions, and the Texans for guests, continued 
on into the afternoon. And, long ere the carousing 
had come to an end Florence Kearney was convinced 
that he had fallen not among thieves or robbers, but 
honest men. He had, in short, discovered that the 
revelers around him were “ free lances,” — friends to 
liberty, as to himself. 


206 


SUSPICIOUS TPACKS. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

SUSPICIOUS TRACKS. 

“Well, gentlemen !” said Rivas to his two guests, 
when the breakfasting was at length brought to a 
close, “ after being so long shut up in a prison cell, 
with only the change into a sewer, I take it a breath 
of free mountain air will be agreeable to you. What 
say you to a turn outside ? We bold friars don’t 
always keep close to our cloisters.” 

Kearney signified consent to the proposal. 

“ I can’t promise you much of a promenade,” con- 
tinued the prior ; “the ground around our convent is 
not very favorable for laying out walks and avenues, 
though our sainted predecessors did a good deal in 
that line. I can show you, however, some views — 
among others that of the famous valley itself. The 
view' of it from this point is said to be one of the 
finest that can be obtained. We can see the city, as 
also Lakes Chaleo and Yezcoco ; of course the grand 
city of Popocatepec and its snowy twin, the ‘ white 


SUSPICIOUS TRACKS. 


207 


sister.’ On a clear day we can also make out the out- 
lines of the volcano of Toluca, that also carries the” 
eternal snow upon its shoulders. As you did not 
enter our beautiful valley exactly in the character of 
tourists, I take it you haven’t as yet had much oppor- 
tunity of admiring its scenery. But you shall now, 
and can judge whether its world-wide celebrity be a 
just one. Come with me, gentlemen.” So saying the 
free-lance -chief conducted the Texans out, Kearney 
going close by his side and Cris Rock striding loosely 
after. 

Outside, the scene was strikingly picturesque. 
The convent had been erected on a little platform, 
only a small portion of which was left unoccupied 
by the building This formed a bit of terrace in front 
that showed traces of having been once cultivated as 
an ornamental ground or garden. But the shubbery 
that had been once kept carefully trimmed was now 
little better than a neglected thicket, in which grew 
the wild maguey and other spinous plants. 

Over all rose tall forest trees, evergreen oaks, and 
huge giants of the family of Conifer among others 
the long-leafed Mexican pine, whose dark-green fas- 
cicles, nearly a foot in length, hung drooping down 


208 


SUSPICIOUS TRACKS. 


like the fronds of the weeping willow. The convent 
was completely screened by them^ so that it was not 
possible to see it from any direction until its crum- 
bling walls echoed the sound of the approaching foot- 
step. 

Nor could the promised view have been had front 
any part of the building itself. To obtain this Don 
Ruperto conducted his guests some distance along a 
rocky ridge, terminating in a steep cliff, that shot 
down sheer at least two hundred yards beneath the 
spot on which they had come to a stand. 

“Mira !” said he. “ Fi7/e de Mexico!'' (Behold 
the Valley of Mexico !) 

It is in truth one of the most splendid panoramic 
views on the face of the earth ; and the young Irish- 
man thought so as his eyes wandered over it. The ef- 
fect may have been heightened by contrast with the late 
gloomy scenes to which his vision had been confined. 
Whether or no, as soon as his gaze fell upon it, the 
exclamation, “Beautiful !” escaped from his lips with 
enthusiastic emphasis. 

He turned to see whether Cris Rock shared his 
admiration ; but the Texan was not there. 

It did not in any way surprise him. He knew his 


SUSPICIOUS TRACKS. 


209 


old campaigning comrade had been too much accus- 
tomed to the wild scenes of nature to care anything 
for fine views or romantic landscapes ; and he had, 
no doubt, loitered behind or turned aside, following 
some vagary of his own inclining. 

It was true that he had turned aside and was fol- 
lowing something, though not a vagary. He was upon 
a trail — the track of a human foot. 

While passing from the convent ruin to the ridge, 
they had crossed a bit of boggy ground, caused by the 

out-flowing of a mountain spring ; and in the soft 

♦ 

mud the eye of the Texan, ever active, and instinct- 
ively bent toward the discovery of “sign,” had de- 
tected in this a footprint, and one that seemed to him 
worthy of examination. 

While the others passed onward, soon disappear- 
ing among the trunks of the trees, Cris stooped down 
and carefully scrutinized the footsteps in the mud. 

It was the track of a shoe, made Mexican fashion, 
with a wooden-pegged sole. There was nothing dis- 
tinctive in this had it been of the ordinary shape and 
size. But it was neither. In length it was not much 
greater than a child’s, while in breadth it was nearly 
double. There was, besides, an obliquity strikingly 


210 


SUSPICIOUS TKACKS. 


peculiar. The two footmarks — for both were present 
upon the mud — showed a turning of the toes inward 
even beyond that of the ordinary Indian. Besides, a 
Mexican Indian would not have worn shoes ; his foot- 
gear being universally the Guarache, or sole-leather 
sandal. 

Cris Rock did not need to enter into any specula- 
tion, or make conjecture in such a discriminating 
manner as this. Almost on the instant of stooping 
over the track he rose suddenly erect again, exclaim- 
ing, as he did so, in a tone that betokened extreme 
surprise : 

“ Burn me ef ’taint the dwarf !” 

For a short while he kept his place, now bending 
down a little over the track, now towering erect, and 
with keen, searching look sweeping the circle around 
him', as if taking the dimensions of every tree that 
grew upon the sides of the mountain. 

But not another word issued from his lips, nor 
exclamation of any kind ; not the slightest move was 
made by him ; and scarcely any wheft he at length 
moved away from the spot, following the footsteps of 
the hunchback ; for the Texan giant felt sure that the 


SUSPICIOUS TRACKS. 


211 


short broad shoe tracks were those of the Mexican 
dwarf Zorillo. 

With body bent and eye keenly scanning them, he 
glided on along their trail, soon disappearing among 
the tree-trunks that grew thickly along the declivity 
of the mountain. 


212 


PROSPECT AND RETROSPECT. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

PROSPECT AND RETROSPECT. 

“You see yonder white building on the summit of 
an isolated hill, surrounded on three sides by a preci- 
pice, and on the Tourth by a steep slope ?” 

“ I do.” 

“ That is Chapultepec. It is said to have been in 
ancient times the summer palace of Mochzumio, while 
the grove of trees at the base of the hill on this side 
are the celebrated cypresses growing in what was the 
palace garden. Those trees are older than the con- 
quest, and, as history tells us, Mochzumio used to 
repose under their shade, dallying there with his dark- 
eyed Aztecan girls. It is still kept as an ornamental 
garden, and is a favorite place of resort for the young 
girls of the city and their sweethearts.” 

“But the buildings on the top of the hill, what are 
they ? They appear to be laid out after the fashion of 
a fortress. I can trace the angles of a parapet, -both 


PROSPECT AND RETROSPECT. 


213 


salient and re-entrant. There is a glacis and ditch 
Guns, too ; those dark dots appear to be guns.” 

“ They are ; and you are right about its being a * 
fortress ; though not supposed of any great strength 
or importance. Its chief strength lies in its position. 
As you see, it is only possible to approach along the 
slope on this side. On the three other faces, it is a 
precipitous wall of rock, over a hundred feet in 
height,” 

“ It is garrisoned as a fortress, is it not ? ’ 

“ No ; it is occupied as a military college. Those 
white buildings you see are mostly the students’ quar- 
ters. I know every wall and window of them, having 
spent three years perched upon the summit of that 
hill. I am a cadet of the military school of Chapul- 
tepec.” 

It was the robber Rivas who made this announce- 
m.ent, and his late fellow-prisoner, Kearney, who list- 
ened to it. 

The young Irishman turned upon his companion a 
glance of half surprise, half interrogation. The other 
understood it and went on : 

“ Yes,” he said, “ I passed three years in the Castle 
of Chapultepec, and after that rose to be a colonel in 


214 


PROSPECT AND RETROSPECT. 


our army. Since then I’ve had several ups and downs, 
the last of them the lowest ; for I think you’ll agree 
with me, Sehor, there could be nothing below being a 
prisoner in the Acordada — unless, indeed, the clean- 
ing out of the street sewers, at which both of us have 
taken a turn.” 

‘‘ By the way, Senor,” said Kearney, as if giving 
way to an impulse of curiosity, ‘‘ you won’t be offended 
at my asking a strange question ?” 

“Ask any question you please, Don Florencio. 
There should be no secrets between fellows in misfor- 
tune.” 

“ Then I ask why it is that you have become a 
robber .?” 

It certainly was a strange question. But it was not 
mere idle curiosity that prompted the young Irishman 
to put it. He was thinking of something antecedent 
to the escape — of the words in Luisa Valverde’s letter 
that told of an interest felt by a certain lady in his 
prison companion — in this man, whom he supposed to 
be a common robber ! 

“ A robber !” repeated the Mexican, with a loud 
but not angry laugh. “ So, sir stranger, you really 


PROSPECT AND RETROSPECT. 


215 


believe me to be neither more nor less than a high- 
wayman ?” 

“Well,” replied Kearney, feeling a little regretful 
for the question he had asked, “ I heard you called so 
by our prison associates, and you will admit, Don 
Ruperto, that you didn’t deny it. If I’ve made a mis- 
take it’s a very grievous one, and I owe you a propor- 
tionate apology.” 

“ Not a word of apology, Senor. How could you 
have thought otherwise ? How can you now ? But 
the time is come for me to explain — to tell you I am 
not a robber, as neither are any of these friends of 
mine with whom you have done me the honor of 
breakfasting.” 

The young Irishman looked interrogative, asking 
as plainly as if spoken in words : 

“ What are they, then ? And you, as well as they ?” 

“We are gentlemen^ Senor,” was the answer to the 
unspoken question. “Gentlemen who chance, for the 
time, to be ‘outs’ in the present scheme of our 
country’s government, and who have the misfortune 
just now to own estates that are confiscated. Lean a 
- little this way, and look down past the projecting 
branch of that pine tree. Can you see a broad tract 


216 


PROSPECT AND RETROSPECT. 


of land covered with dark-green plants surrounding a 
very decent-looking dwelling-house ?” 

“ Yes, I see the place you mean.” 

“ Well, that is a maguey plantation ; that yields 
pulque worth twenty thousand dollars a year. I \Yas 
born proprietor of that little estate ; and three years 
ago it was mine. But ior three years I haven’t 
touched a dollar of its rents, and never can so long as 
Don Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna remains ruler of 
this country. You see, Senor, I am more robbed than 
robber.” 

Kearney felt inclined to spring forward and grasp 
his late fellow-prisoner’s hand. He was only 
restrained by the thought that he might be listening 
to a one-sided story. 

“You have been grievously slandered, Senor,” he 
said. “ In the prison we were told — ” 

“That I was a hardened highwayman. Of course, 
that’s what Santa Anna’s party calls us. It serves 
their purpose to do so ; and scores of our party have 
been taken and shot on this very plea. In m'ost cases 
it was simple murder — political, if you like. There 
may be some real highwaymen among us, I admit ; 
for where’s the political party that hasn’t been com- 


PROSPECT AND RETROSPECT. 


217 


pelled, upon occasions, to avail itself of the services of 
the thief and robber ? And I admit that we have at 
times to live by a little freebooting, otherwise we 
should starve. Meat and drink don’t grow in these 
mountains, no more does clothing ; and we have to 
get these indispensables elsewhere — take them, in 
short. Once in a while we make a descent into the 
valley, but we are discriminating in our forays. We 
don’t plunder our own parties — only the enemy ; and 
there’s one of them now who may shortly expect a 
midnight visit from us. We have a country house in 
our eye we intend plundering. Ha ! ha ! it’s not a 
bad joke, either.” 

“What aint ?” asked Kearney. 

“ Wh}^, about the house we design paying the visit 
to. Have you a curiosity to know whose it is ?” 

The young Irishman neither said yes nor no. He 
had no answer to make. He could not guess what his 
free-lance friend was driving at. 

“Well,” continued the latter, “you can’t be much 
interested one way or the other, but you may be a 
little amused when I tell you whose house it is. Yon- 
der you see it in the middle of those maguey fields.” 


218 


PROSPECT AND RETROSPECT. 


Rivas drew aside the drooping branch and pointed 
to the same dwelling as before. 

“Your own house !” said Kearney, now understand- 
ing the jest. 

“My own house, Sehor. It is now occupied by 
one of the favorites of Don Antonio. I believe the 
Dictator has bestowed it upon him for some rare ser- 
vice, or sold it cheap, or something of the kind. For a 
time he kept rather shy of stocking it — not knowing 
how long the present regime might last. But lately, 
since he knew that I had fallen into their hands, and 
fancied it was all up with me, he has made it his olace 
of residence, and, as we have reason to know, has got 
it fitted up and furnished in a style of palatial splen- 
dor, mirrors, plate, and all the et ceteras. We sha’n’t 
disturb his mirrors, but if we find any plate that’s at 
all portable, we intend transferring it to our own 
rnountain domicile here, along with the proprietor 
himself, if we can only lay our hands upon him. He’s 
not a bad-looking fellow, and would make a handsome 
ornament hanging from the branch of one of these 
mountain oaks.” 

“What may be his name ?” asked Kearney, rather 


PROSPECT AND RETROSPECT. 


219 


from an instinct of curiosity than any suspicion of who 
the usurper might be 

“You know both the name and the man, Senor. 
He is the same who had us degraded by being sent to 
the sewers.” 

“Santander!” 


“ Don Carlos Santander,” 


220 


A SKULKER CAUGHT. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

A SKULKER CAUGHT. 

There was something very singular — and to Kear- 
ney and his new acquaintance it seemed so — that this 
man Santander should have such a sinister influence 
over the lives of both — constantly coming up to 
thwart or ruin them. 

They were about exchanging thoughts on this sub- 
ject when their conversation was interrupted by a 
voice that came reverberating along the ridge, ringing 
loudly through the trunks of the trees, and sending its 
echoes along the cliff upon which they stood. 

They were surprised, but not at the voice. They 
recognized it as Cris Rock’s, They only wondered 
why and for what cause it was so strangely attuned. 

“ Come along hyar, ye durned skunk !” it ex- 
claimed, in a tone of angry menace. “Follerfree, or 
I’ll jerk you off o’ yur feet an’ chuck you right over 
the edge o’ the clift. Step out smart now, an’ don’t 
gie me any more o’ yur bother. Whar air you, 
Capt’in Kearney ?” 


A SKULKER CAUGHT. 


221 


“ Here, Rock — up on the high ground here. 

Who had the Texan encountered in a place where 
he had never been before, and where no one was to be 
expected save the free lances themselves ? Had he 
quarreled with one of them, made captive of him with 
his strong arm, and was now dragging him into the 
presence of his chief for punishment or adjudication ? 

Kearney and Rivas listened. There was a brush- 
ing of feet among the dead leaves, the occasional 
’ snapping of a twig or rotten stick ; but what was that 
other sound that resembled the clanking of a chain ? 

It 7£/as the clanking of a chain ! 

Rivas and Kearney had just time to turn with 
inquiring look? towards one another when Rock 
appeared from behind the screening of the trees, and 
close behind him an individual at once identified as 
the dwarf Zorillo. The Texan had hold 5f the piece 
of chain still attached to his ankle, and was leading 
him by it as a showman would a monkey or a bear. 
In a few seconds’ time he led him forward to the edge 
of the cliff, and the four prisoners of the Acordada 
were once more united. 

“ 1 foun’ this thing,” said Rock, giving the dwarf a 
jerk so as to draw him well out in front — “ I foun’ 


222 A SKULKER CAUGHT. 

him skulking about down thar among the trees. I 
wouldn’t a foun’ him ef ’t hadn’t been that I kum 
upon his track where we crossed the bit o’ boggy 
groun’. I seed them, an’ that’s why I left you. As 
they war fresh, I soon tracked the skunk up an’ laid 
my claws on him. Now, the question be : What’s 
brought him hyar ? He’s told me a story. I don’t 
believe a bit of it.” 

“ What story ?” asked Rivas. 

“ Sehor Don Ruperto,” said the dwarf, answering 
for himself, “ I told nothing but the truth. May the 
Blessed Virgin deny me if I did !” 

While thus uttering, the creature devoutly made 
the sign of the cross, extending his long arms over 
his breast like the tentacula of a spider. 

“ Tell it again,” demanded Rivas. 

“ I only confessed, Sefior, to having followed you 
up here. You can understand, gentlemen, that I — a 
condemned one — had as much to fear as any of you. 
If taken back to prison, I might expect the garota. 
When you all left me in the Pedregal, I knew there 
would be no safety there, as the soldiers would soon 
discover me ; so I kept you in sight as well as I could, 


A SKULKER CAUGHT. 


223 


and followed on after you because I knew that where 
you went there would be nothing to fear.” 

“Wretch! do you mean to say that you followed 
us all the way up the mountain here?” 

“ I admit it all, Senor Rivas. I had no other hope 
of escaping from the soldiers, who were after all of 
us.” 

“And you’ve been skulking about here all the 
morning without showing yourself? Why didn’t you 
do that ?” 

“ Oh, your worship !” whined out the dwarf, in a 
piteous tone, “ you may know why I did not. Senor 
Tejano here had threatened to take my life, and I was 
afraid.” 

“I feel like takin’ of it yit,” interposed Rock, 
giving the chain a significant shake. 

“And what would you have done if the Senor 
Tejano hadn’t caught you as he has now ? You 
couldn’t have lived around here without coming in- 
side the convent.” 

“ I intended that, your worship ; only I was waiting 
till I could see some one and get leave to go in. But 
I would have risked everything, even your worship’s 
displeasure, rather than be taken back to the Acordada. 


224 


A SKULKER CAUGHT. 


Ah ! Senores, that might be death to me ! Have pity, 
then, and don’t drive me from your doors.” 

‘‘ His hul story air a durned imperobable supposi- 
tion,” interrupted Rock, speaking to the others. 
“ There aint the color o’ truth on the face o’ ’t. Ef 
he’d been afeerd o’ the pursuers gettin’ holt on him 
kedn’t he a hid himself, like any other varmint, among 
the rocks o’ that ugly bit o’ ground we crossed, ’ithout 
cornin’ up hyar? He mout a screwed his ugly kar- 
kidge into a creviss not bigger than would a held a 
horned frog. Wagh ! I don’t b’lieve a word o’ what 
he say.”. 

The others looked equally incredulous as to the 
truth of Zorillo’s story. 

“He’s kim arter us,” continued the Texan, “jest to 
see whar we go. He war a makin’ away when I set 
my eyes on him — steal in’ off through the bushes like a 
coyoat. My opeenyun, gentlemen, air that the bessest 
way would be to swing him up in one o’ these hyar 
pine trees — he wouldn’t be much o’ a’ ’dornment to it. 
Ef ye prefar it. I’ll sling him out over the clift. Say 
the word, eyther o’ ye, an’ ’t air done.” 

“O, mercy, Don Cristoforo !” cried the dwarf; 


A SKULKER CAUGHT. 


225 


“ mercy on a poor, accursed creature. I swear, Seuors, 
I’ve told only the truth. I swear — I swear it !” 

And the miserable wretch, dropping down upon his 
knees, repeated, over and over again, the sign of the 
cross. 

“ It does seem doubtful,” said Rivas to Kearney, 
speaking in an undertone — “odd he should have fol- 
lowed us up here, after the way we treated him ; and 
not less odd he should have been able to keep us in 
view. He’s a singular creature anyhow ; and it’s just 
possible he may have known the path before. Well, 
we can’t commit murder ; and it would be doing that, 
I take it, to leave him much longer in the keeping of 
your colossal comrade. But it doesn’t seem safe to 
let him go ; so I fancy we best hold on to him. We 
can shut him up in one of the cells of the old monas- 
tery, where he’ll be safe enough.” 

Kearney, thus consulted, signified that he was of 
the same way of thinking. 

“ Bring him along, Senor Cristoforo,” said Rivas, 
sharply, to the Texan, as he turned to go back to the 
ruin. “ Conduct him inside the monastery, and 
let us make a monk of him. Ha! ha! ha! We’ll 


226 


A SKULKER CAUGHT. 


see that for some time he keeps close to his clois- 
ter.” 

All four commenced marching back toward the 
ruined convent, Rock evidently reluctant, and cast- 
ing glances back towards the cliff, as if still desir- 
ous by that easy method to disembarrass himself 
of the deformed specimen of humanity attached 
to the end of the chain. It seemed a cruel antipathy 
on the part of the Texan ; but it was not altogether 
that : only an instinct of self-preservation. 


THfc INVESTIGATION. 


227 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE INVESTIGATION. 

The escape of the two Texans, and along with 
them their yoked fellow-prisoners, made some noise in 
the Mexican capital. Still not so much as might be 
imagined by those unacquainted with Mexican affairs. 
In a country where pronunciamentos are put forth 
and revolutions arise on an average of one to every six 
months — where stage-coaches travelling on its most 
frequented roads are stopped and plundered by 
armed bandits every week, and almost every day ; 
where men are “ kidnapped ” in their own court-yards, 
and carried off to the mountains, there to be held cap- 
tive until released by ransom, and hanged or shot if 
they be not ; where the footpad stalks boldly abroad 
in the streets, and the highwayman rides rampant 
along the roads ; where there is blood-letting every 
day and every night by the dagger of the assassin — in 
a land like this, where “ law secures not life,” it may 
easily be supposed that such a trifling event as the 


228 


THE INVESTIGATION. 


escape of three or four prisoners would not constitute 
more than a nine days’ wonder. Nor would it have 
done even this much had the escaped prisoners been 
of the class of jail-birds ordinarily encaged in the 
Acordada. Only because of their being Texans had 
any attention been attracted to the affair, and a little 
perhaps from the mode by which they had succeeded 
in setting themselves free. 

About this there was something so peculiar and 
original as to pique even the curiosity of a people 
used to Startling events. Various accounts of it had 
been given, by those who chanced to be spectators, 
and all sorts of speculations were afloat as to how the 
thing had been done. Everybody acknowledged it to 
be a neat thing ; and but for the tragical episode at 
the garita, where the sergeant and sentry had been 
killed — for both were shot dead — most people would 
have been disposed to applaud the skill and courage 
that had been displayed by the escaping prisoners. 

The investigation that followed proved both to 
have been remarkable. There was originality in the 
design of selecting a private carriage as a means to 
escape by ; adroitness in the way it was seized upon ; 
while to run the gantlet of a whole line of armed 


THE INVESTIGATION. 


229 


sentinels, and afterwards the guard at the garlta, 
showed a degree of determined courage that invested 
the adventurers with something like a halo of 
heroism. The question arose, whence came the 
pistols ? They could not have been obtained in the 
carriage, as ladies were not likely to have had such 
playthings beside them. Had they been procured in 
the prison, or passed to the prisoners on their passage 
along the streets by some act of prestidigitation on the 
part of confederates ? Of course, the friends of the 
robber, Rivas, got credit for it, though there was a 
suspicion of connivance on the part of one of the 
jailers — he who had charge of their cell. The man 
was submitted to a severe examination, but nothing 
could be proved against him. On the contrary, it 
was shown that he had all along treated his prison 
wards with more than the usual cruelty practiced 
within the walls of the Acordada. He had in reality 
done so under orders from the jail governor, himself 
instigated by unseen pressure from behind. 

The sentinel immediately in charge of them was 
next placed upon the stand. There was something 
suspicious in the fact of his gun having flashed with- 
out firing. But the piece was examined, and a bona 


230 


THE INVESTIGATION. 


fide* ball-cartridge found inside attested his attention 
to have sent the shot into the carriage. There were 
witnesses who saw him aim right into the windows. 
The touch-hole was found clogged, and this had 
caused the failure of the fire, while there was no reason 
to suppose that he had tampered with it. Besides, the 
soldier had been earnest in giving the alarm, having 
sent his cries along the street in loud, shrill intona- 
tion. 

His examination only proved negligence in not 
“keeping his powder dry,” and with a reprimand for it 
he was dismissed from the witness-box. 

The coachman’s conduct was also closely scruti- 
nized. Joe’s story was simple and straightforward. 
He swore that the driving on his part had been alto- 
gether involuntary, or rather compulsory ; that, in 
fact, he had not driven at all. The great Texan had 
jerked the reins out of his hands, and, moreover, 
threatened him with a knife held close to his heart, 
if he should make either outcry or offer resistance. It 
would have been certain death for him to do either. 
A harmless young fellow — as Don Ignacio’s coachman 
was known to be — could not, under the circumstances, 
have acted otherwise than h^ had done. He had suf- 


THE INVERTIGATiON. 


231 


fered enough in the scare he had had, to say nothing 
of the risk of getting a bullet through his body while 
running the gantlet of the garita. This was the reflect 
tion that followed when the testimony of the coach- 
man was given in. But if he did not drive, how came 
the Texan, who was a stranger, and could know noth- 
ing of the roads, to head the horses in the right direc- 
tion for the country ? 

This question asked of him certainly appeared to 
have something in it ; but his answer was ready, and 
seemed rational enough. Don Ruperto, he said, stand- 
ing up in the carriage, had both with voice and gesture 
told the Texan which way to go and what to do. In 
short, Don Ruperto had directed everything, and it 
was he who, before riding off, had ordered him — the 
coachman — to be lashed to the wheel of the carriage. 

Throughout all the investigation not a word was 
said about the hammer and chisel that had been dis- 
covered under the cushions of the carriage. Of course, 
no one thought of mentioning these things, for no one 
had heard of their having been found. Cris Rock had 
shown wisdom in disposing of them as he had done. 

In fine, the military council intrusted with the 
affair came to the conclusion that no blanie could be 


232 


THE INVESTIGATION. 


brought home to any one beyond that of negligence. 
It was a bold, original attempt of three very daring 
men, and as such it had succeeded. 

No one dreamt, of calling the ladies to account. 
The idea that they could have in any way connived at 
the escape of criminals — all robbers, too, for the 
Texans were deemed no better — would have been 
scouted as preposterous. It was not thought of. 
People only sympathized with the “pobres sefioritas ” 
(poor young ladies). How terribly they must have been 
frightened when the fierce, mud-bedaubed convicts 
sprang into the carriage beside them ! No wonder 
they had screamed so loudly ! And what presence of 
mind they had shown in leaping out on the opposite 
side ! If they had not done so they might have been 
carried off to some robber’s den in the mountains ; and 
then what would have become of them ? 

There was one man, however, whose reflections did 
not altogether run in this sympathizing strain. This 
was Colonel Carlos Santander. For more causes than 
one the Creole had his suspicions that the Sefioritas 
Valverde and Almonte were not blameless in the 
affair, but had both of them connived at the escape, 
and perhaps even planned it. 


THE INVESTIGATION. 233 

It was a suspicion that tortured him to the heart’s ' 
core ; and he would have given a large reward to any- 
one who could have proved their connivance. , While 
eagerly^ directing the search after the three principal 
fugitives that for days occupied his whole time, he was 
equally desirous to recapture the fourth — the dwarf 
Zorillo — from whom he hoped to obtain testimony 
that would serve his most sinister purpose. 


234 : 


A SUBURBAN VILLAGE. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

A SUBURBAN VILLAGE. 

The great National Road, running southward from 
the City of Mexico, is one of the most interesting 
highways on the continent of America. Although 
heading nearly due south from the Mexican capital, 
instead of in a westerly direction, it is the continua- 
tion of that road of the same name which, starting 
from Vera Cruz on the Gulf, terminates at the port of 
Acapulco on the Pacific. In its day it was regarded 
as a work of grand engineering skill, and would be 
even now, since it is carried across several chains of 
mountains that would seem almost impracticable for 
vehicles on wheels. Over these it is conducted by 
easy gradients that remain to this hour monuments of 
a master mind on the part of him who made it. It 
was the work of a Spanish engineer, under the inspir- 
ation of Revillagegedo, one of the most noted and 
energetic of the vice-kings of New Spain. 

It is interesting, also, as having been, in old vice- 


A SUBURBAN VILLAGE. 


235 


regal times, the grand highway over which passed 
much of the rich commerce of the Indies, coming 
across the Pacific Ocean, then 'passing, by land car- 
riage, from Acapulco to Vera Cruz, thence to be trans- 
ported over another great ocean to supply the shops 
and coffers of proud Spain, then steeped to the lips in 
luxury. 

A thousand strange incidents — a thousand romantic 
episodes — have occurred on this old road, which has, 
at different periods, borne the two distinct names of 
Royal and National. Thanks to the spirit of republi- 
canism that, despite the long-continued assaults of des- 
potism, still survives in the country of Moctezuma, it 
is now again National, and likely to remain so. 

There is no portion of this road more interesting 
than where it emerges from the City of Mexico, turn- 
ing south towards the Pacific. And this section of it 
is less known. Thousands of travellers have made 
the journey from Vera Cruz to the capital, and scores 
have printed their impressions of it, all nearly in the 
same style and to the same tune. But few have 
described its continuation through the territories 
beyond. Passing out through the garita of San 
Antonio de Abad, it is carried by a wide causeway. 


236 


A SDBUKBAN VILLAGE. 


with water ditches on each side, along a level plain 
through meadows, maize fields, and plantations of the 
giant, dark-green maguey. Crossing the stream of 
Churubusco, by the bridge famed for its battle, it 
bends slightly to the east, and skirting the sedge-cov- 
ered lagoon of Xochimilco, with the singular lava 
field of the Pedregal on its right, it enters the Mount 
Amires tract that shuts in the Mexican valley on the 
south, and ascending the Sierra of Ajusco through 
romantic passes, one of which, after Cortez himself, 
bears the name of Cruz del Marquez (the Cross of the 
Marquis), it drops to a lower elevation into the beau- 
tiful valley of Cuemavacel, Spain’s gift to the great 
“ Conquestador,” which gave him his title of Marquis 
del Valle. 

In this history we do not intend following the road 
so far ; only to the point where it penetrates the 
mountains about ten miles from the garita of San 
Antonio de Abad. There stands a town, or rather, a 
large village — one of the most beautiful in all the val- 
ley of Mexico. It is the “pueblo” of San Augustin 
de los Cuevos, (St. Augustin of the Caves,) but known 
also to the Aztec Indians — many of whom are its 
inhabitants — by its ancient appellation of Tlalpain. 


A SUBURBAN VILLAGE. 


237 


The titles are partially synanymous, derived from cer- 
tain curious caverns that exist in the adjacent Sierra. 

San Augustin is to the metropolis of Mexico what 
Brighton is to London, or Long branch to the city of 
New York ; during a certain season of the year a 
place of fashionable resort. And yet it is not exactly 
comparable to either. Only for a very short period is 
it a place of pleasure, and this of a character and kind 
altogether different from what transpires at Brighton 
or Long Branch. 

The “ season ” of San Augustin is during the days 
of carnival. Then the quaint suburban village — at 
other seasons of the year tranquil enough — becomes 
transformed into a crowded fair, with grand booths, 
tents, and other temporary camp-dwellings, most of 
them devoted to gambling. There, around mont^ 
tables, may be seen seated, or standing, gentlemen 
dressed in the latest style of Parisian fashion, along- 
side cavaliers in the picturesque costume of the coun- 
try ; officers, military and diplomatic, bedizened in 
gold lace ; senators in more sober garb ; priests in 
their robes of black serge and coal-scuttle hats upon 
their heads ; leperos in striped serapes ; professional 
card-players and- criminals of every class, among them 


238 


A SUBURBAN VILLAGE. 


not unfrequently the robber and murderer. And in 
the midst of this motley crowd, and forming a consid- 
erable portion of it, ladies of fashion and haut ton^ 
dressed in gorgeous silken apparel, and touching skirts 
with the wool-petticoated peasant girl and the more 
stylishly attired poblana. 

On such occasions there is no distinction of class. 
The social aristocracy — termed the familias principales 
— has, for the time, to sink its pretentions to exclusive- 
ness, and laying them aside with the best grace it can, 
becomes merged in the democratic mass. It is, in 
fact, a sort of annual saturnalia, such as may at times 
be seen in old Spain itself and other continental 
countries of Europe — especially among the^ Latinic 
races. 

In San Augustin this mad fit is of brief duration. 
In a week or ten days it is all over; the mercurial 
crowd takes its departure ; the tents and booths are 
pulled down ; and the beautiful pueblo is once more 
restored to its normal condition of a quiet country 
village. 

Still it is not deserted, for in and around it some of 
the “first families” have fine country-houses, where 
they spend a goodly portion of the year. These are 


A SUBURBAN VILLAGE. 


239 


not villas in the New York or Brighton style, but 
grand dwellings, surrounded by high stone or 
“adobe” walls, on the tops of which flourish tall 
cactus plants, their fluted stems, like Corinthian col- 
ums, rising stiffly up among the drooping branches of 
the Peruvian pepper-tree, v 

And within these inclosures, under the shade of a 
semi-tropical foliage, hre beautiful grounds and gar- 
dens,- with arboreous seats, statues, fountains supplied 
from the crystal streams of the adjacent Sierra ; in 
short, everything that seems needed to make country 
life an Elysium. 

One of these pleasant retreats belonged to Don 
Ignacio Valverde. It was part of the confiscated 
property lately restored to him ; and at intervals, 
when not occupied with state affairs in the capital, 
he was accustomed to make it the abiding place of 
himself and family, that now consisted of his daughter 
and that other young lady already known, standing to 
Luisa Valverde in the relationship of cousin, and to 
Don Ruperto Rivas, the reputed robber, in that of a 
sweetheart ! 

Such things may seem strange in the eyes of 
an American. They are quite common in Mexico, 


240 


A SUBURBAN VILLAGE. 


where the robber is not always a cutthroat, but 
often only a gentleman driven to the “ road,” — 
forced by political causes a little outside the pale of 
respectable society ; and it might be that Ruperto 
Rivas was but telling the truth when he proclaimed 
himself as belonging to this category. 

At all events, Ysabel Almonte so believed it ; for 
in such matters love is ever merciful and lenient. 


UNDER THE QUINCE TREES. 


241 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

« 

UNDER THE QUINCE TREES. 

It was about the sixth day after the escape of the 
two Texan prisoners, along with their chain com- 
panions, and near the hour of sunset. The golden orb 
’ — the god of ancient Tenochtitlan — was low down 
over the summits of the western Sierras, overlooking 
the plains of Toluca, his last beams kissing as with 
rose-colored lips the snowy cone of Popocatepec, and 
the spotless bosom of the “White Sister ” recumbent 
by its side. 

Along the gravelled walks of a walled garden — 
just outside the suburbs of San Augustin — and under 
the shadows of its quince trees, two ladies were strol- 
ling. They were both young, both beautiful, but of a 
style entirely different. Although cousins, there was 
no resemblance between them, except in the color of 
their hair — in both jet black — and a little also in the 
complexion. One was tall, of imperious, command- 
ing mien, and features pronouncedly Spanish ; while 


242 


undp:r the quince trees. 


the other was of less than medium woman’s size — what 
is usually termed petite — of plump, rounded form, 
and a face that bespoke an admixture of Indian blood. 
The obliqued eyes and slightly aquiline nose were 
evidently Aztec ; while the complexion waS but a 
shade or two lighter than what might be seen all 
around Tlalpam in a people undoubtedly descended 
from the subjects of Moctezuma. Despite her purely 
Spanish name, Ysabel Almonte had the blood of 
Azteca in her veins — for one of the two ladies was -she. 
The other was Luisa Valverde. 

They were walking along a sanded path, under the 
shadow of trees, but not straying. They were going 
back and forward over the same ground, engaged ’in a 
conversation that seemed serious and earnest. It 
must have been about some subject that disturbed 
them, for the tranquil air of the evening, though laden 
with the narcotic fragrance of the floupundios, did not 
hinder them from being excited and also somewhat 
distressed. There was trouble on the countenances of 
both, though it was more plainly indicated in the looks 
of Luisa Valverde. The expression upon the features 
of Ysabel was rather that of recklessness, or a more 


UNDER THE QUINCE TREES. 


243 


fearless defiance of some danger that both seemed to 
dread. Her speech pointed to it. 

“And what if they should find it gut? They 
wouldn’t dare do aught to us. Consider, Luisita, that 
your father is high in office — part of the government 
itself.” 

“Ah! dearest Ysa.,” rejoined her more serious 
companion, “ you don’t know to what papa owes his 
present elevation. If you did you might understand 
how little it would avail us, should it come to our 
being found out — me certainly nothing, but rather the 
reverse. I tremble more for father than for myself.” 

“ I think I do know, and do understand you, Luis- 
ita,” said the mixed blood, with a glance that seemed 
to take in the whole outlines of her splendidly beauti- 
ful cousin. “ If so, why be troubled or affrighted ? 
Surely the same influence that procured your father’s 
pardon will get us out of such a trifling trouble as 
this.” 

“Trifling trouble you call it! To assist in the 
escape of four prisoners, and two of them that are 
said to be criminals — ” 

“No! no! no! Only one criminal, Luisita. You 
speak too fast. I admit that Don Ruperto has 


244 


UNDER THE QUINCE TREES. 


obtained the reputation of being a robber, but he is 
not a criminal. I am sure he is not, any more than 
your Don Florencio. He is outlawed, it is true, but 
that’s for political reasons ; and if he has done some 
deeds — as they say he has — remember a man must 
live. His estates have been taken from him, as were 
your father’s ; and Mexico isn’t New Orleans, where 
he might get his bread by giving lessons in the Span- 
ish language. Only one criminal, cousin.” 

“ Forgive me, Ysabel. I had no thought of con- 
demning Don Ruperto, or calling him a criminal. I 
only meant that he is so spoken of by others — of 
course, because he was in prison.” 

“Well, he is no longer there — thanks to you, dear 
Luisita, with a little help from myself — and it isn’t 
likely he’ll get back into the Acordada for some time 
to come.” 

“You think there’s no danger, Ysa. ? You know 
things better than I. It is so long since I was here at 
home, and everything seems so changed I almost for- 
get the ways of my own country.” 

This earnest inquiry for the safety of Don Ruper- 
to had no reference to him or his peril, only so far as 
it included his late prison companion. 


UNDER THE QUINCE TREES. 


245 


“ Not much danger,” responded the semi-Aztecan — 
‘‘ not much danger for Don Ruperto, nor your Texans 
either, since, wherever he is, they will both be along 
with him.” 

“ But you know they have sent out large bodies of 
troops — both infantry and cavalry. I heard Don Car- 
los say so. They are searching the valley in all direc- 
tions, and are now scouring the mountain passes.” 

“Let them search and scour!” cried the descend- 
ant of the Moctezumas, with a contemptuous toss of 
her head and a flash of old Aztec fire from her 
almond-shaped eyes. “ If these gold-laced military 
heroes don’t take good care, some of themselves 
may get caught in the mountain passes. And I 
hope they will! Wouldn’t it serve them right? I 
only wish this friend of yours, Don Carlos Santan- 
der—” 

“ Friend of mine !” 

“Well, your father’s friend.” 

“Only in appearance, Ysa.: he is the enemy of 
both of us — perhaps our greatest enemy — if you 
knew all. But no matter now. I can only think of 
Florencio. I wonder where they can have gone to ? 
They must have taken their fetters along with them, 


246 


UNDER TUE quince TREES. 


and the hammer, too — everything ! Jose says that 
nothing has been found.” 

“ That’s all the better for us, Don Ruperto would 
be sure to think of it. The tools would have surely 
betrayed us. How fortunate they did not find out 
about the pistols.” 

“ Ah ! that grieves me. Only to think that we have 
been the cause of killing two men !” 

“ And what if we have ? Rather think of the two 
other men whose lives have been saved by it. If they 
had not shot the soldiers out of their way, both might 
now be back in the Acordada, and shot or garroted 
themselves. I won’t fret myself about what they did 
with the pistols if it don’t come out where they pro- 
cured them. That’s our danger, Luz.; but maybe it’s 
not much, since it is generally supposed that some of 
Don Ruperto’s people found a means of pitching them 
into the carriage as they were galloping along the 
Paseo. Good Jose says he threw out this hint as they 
were .examining him, and he will swear to it if they 
press him further. Wasn’t it thoughtful of the brave 
fellow thus to befriend us ? We can depend upon him 
for anything, I take it.” 

“ I have no fear of him, Ysa. He has been brought 


UNDER THE QUINCE TREES. 


247 


up in our family, and Pepita says he would do any- 
thing for us. Besides, you know he is himself com- 
promised, and would be in great danger if the truth 
should become known.” 

“How can it? There’s no one to tell anything ; 
and I’m sure we played our parts to perfection. I 
was really a bit frightened as they made the rush to 
the carriage, for I didn’t know but that the horrid 
sentry might fire his gun after them, and hit one of 
us. Didn’t I cry out beautifully ? There never was a 
more natural scream heard on the streets of Mexico. 
It would have made the fortune of a stage performer. 
Ha ! ha ! Santissima !” 

The laugh of the light-hearted girl was closely fol- 
lowed by the exclamation which terminated in a 
scream, as if a hysterical fit had suddenly taken pos- 
session of her. 

Her cousin fancied she was giving an imitation of 
herself in the street scene ; but on looking into her 
face, she beheld an expression that at once contra- 
dicted the idea. 

Ysabel had turned toward the wall, and was gaz-^ 
ing up to its top ahiong the branches of a tree that 
overhung it from the outside. These were thickly 


248 


UNDER THE QUINCE TREES. 


trellised by parasites and other climbing plants, form- 
ing a second wall of verdure, bespangled with blos- 
soms, among which were the grand, bell-shaped 

* 

corollas of the floupundio. 

“ What is it ?” anxiously asked Luisa, seeing that 
her cousin had turned pale and stood trembling. 

“ Oh, Luisita, look there ! Is it the face of a 
man ?” 

Luisa looked as directed. Not strange that the 
question expressed a doubt. There was a face seen 
through the lattice work of leaves, but scarcely the 
countenance of a man. It more resembled the physi- 
ognomy of the fabled griffin, or some grand African 
ape. And there was a grin upon it more demon-like 
than human. 

No wonder that both were affrighted, that they 
trembled as they clasped one another by the hands, 
and still continued to tremble as they stood side by 
side, holding fast to each other. 

“Don’t be alarmed, ladies,” came a voice, in sharp, 
squeaLy tones from out a wide, thin-lipped mouth 
that traversed half way across the strange face. 
“ Don’t be frightened of me. I’m only an old friend. 
You don’t remember my face ? Maybe it will assist 


UNDER THE QUINCE TREES. 


249 


your recollection if I show you my beautiful body ! 
It isn’t so easily forgotten by any one who has once 
had the felicity to look upon it.” 

There was a shaking of the branches and a move- 
ment among the leaves, and presently a form dis- 
played itself passing along a limb of the tree with the 
agility of an orang-outang ; to which, had it been cov- 
ered with red hair instead of dark cloth garments, it 
would have borne a very striking resemblance. 

Both had by this recognized it as the piece of de- 
formed humanity they had seen in the sewer chained 
to the great Texan, and afterwards carried off by him 
on the box of their carriage ! 

Zorillo spoke the truth. They who had once 
looked upon, were not likely ever after to forget him. 


250 


A SURRENDER OF JEWELRY. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

A SURRENDER OF JEWELRY. 

In a second after the dwarf had slung himself from 
the branch to the top of the adobe wall, where he re- 
mained squatted in a half-sitting, half-crouching atti- 
tude, grinning down at the ladies below. 

It was a picture that might have been likened to 
Satan by the side of the garden of Eden, only that there 
were two Eves instead of one. 

Despite her professed bravery, Ysabel Almonte felt 
fear, which might have ended in flight, had not her 
cousin restrained her. 

The latter drew courage from a thought. 

Hideous as was the creature before her eyes, she 
was thinking only of those with whom he had been 
associated ; and perhaps he now presented himself as 
the bearer of tidings from them. With this hope she 
kept her ground, restraining her companion. 

“You remember me now — don’t you?” chuckled 
out the hunchback. 

“ Oh ! yes, we do. It was you — ” 

“ I who, along with others, benefited by the well- 


A SURRENDER OF JEWELRY. 


251 


contrived scheme of your ladyships. Ah ! wasn’t it 
well contrived ?” 

‘‘ How, sir ?” 

“ How ! Pretty innocent doves ! Surely I need 
not tell you. It should be enough for you to know 
how admirably your plan succeeded, which, of course, 
you do. Your friends, my late room-mates in the 
Hotel de Acordada, are now separated from me. No 
doubt it will rejoice you to know that they are be- 
yond the reach of our common enemies, and hidden 
in a place where there is no fear of them being 
found.” 

The dwarf grinned gleefully as he saw the pleas- 
ure this assurance produced. 

Luisa had it upon the tip of her tongue to ask, 
“ where ?” She was restrained by the fear of com- 
mitting herself. 

“ You needn’t be afraid to talk to me,” continued 
the hunchback. “ My name is Zorillo ; at least that’s 
the nickname people have given me, because they say 
I’ve got cunning. The fox, you know, has got that. 
Be it so. It’s only talent, after all, and it’s at your 
service, Sehoritas !” 

“ What do you wish us to do ? We know nothing 


252 


A SURRENDER OF JEWELRY. 


of what you are speaking about. Explain yourself, 
^ Senor Zorillo.” 

“ Know nothing ! Come, come, young ladies ; 
this is only a poor jest ; and somewhat ill-timed, too. 
You know all. And so do I. How well you played 
your part ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! They couldn’t have done 
it better in the Iturbide theatre — those actress 
damsels there — not one of them. What foresight, 
too, in providing the pistols, to say nothing of the 
hammer and chisel ! Both have been so useful to us. 
But for the first we might, after all, have failed, and 
the brace of unfortunate guards, instead of being 
now quietly asleep in their coffins, might have been 
smoking their cigarretos and drinking pulque at the 
garita, while the gallant Senores Ruperto and 
Florencio, to say nothing of the grand Senor Cristo- 
foro and my diminutive self, might have been still 
clanking our chains in a cell of the Acordada. In- 
stead we are all free, thanks to your worthy lady- 
ships.” 

Clearly, the hunchback knew all. It would be no 
use attempting further subterfuge with him. So whis- 
pered Ysabel to her cousin. 

“ Well, Senor Zorillo,” said Luisa, addressing the 


A SURRENDER OF JEWELRY. 


253 


dwarf in her blandest tone, “admitting what you say 
to be true, and supposing we did do something to 
assist in the escape of your fellow-prisoners and your- 
self, what do you want of us ?” 

“ Carrambo exclaimed the dwarf. “ I want noth- 
ing ; that is, nothing for myself. I’ve only come here 
as the emissary of others.” 

“ Don Ruperto has sent you ?” asked Ysabel, 
quickly ; while with like celerity the name of Don 
Florencio flew to the lips of Luisa. 

“Both, ladies. I have the honor to present myself 
as the ambassador of both the gallant gentlemen you 
have named.” 

“For what have they sent you, Sefior? Pray tell 
us at once !” 

“ Charming Senoritas, I should have told you long 
ago, but that the message I bear is of a somewhat 
delicate nature. I must premise, however, that it was 
not intended to be addressed to you, but to a gentle- 
man in San Augustin, whom I have been so unfortunate 
as not to find at home. Your friends, I need not tell 
you, are up in the mountains, where there’s no great 
plenty of provisions. They’ve been forty-eight hours 
without taking food, and have deputed your humble 


254 


A SURliENDER OF JEWELRY. 


servant upon a foraging or rather begging expedi- 
tion.” 

The young ladies exchanged glances with each 
other. Florencio and Ruperto fasting for forty-eight 
hours ! 

“As I’ve said, Senoritas* they didn’t send me to you. 
They don’t know you are here. I w^as to come down 
into the valley, and do what I could to procure some- 
thing for them to eat. As there is no money, I sup- 
pose I shall have to steal it. But that might end in 
my getting caught, and then the senores would run 
the risk of starving. Hearing by chance that your 
ladyships were out here, I thought it would be no 
offence if I should make my appeal to you. Why I 
didn’t go in by the front gate, but have thus uncere- 
moniously presented myself, will no doubt occur to 
your ladyships.” 

“ You have acted right, sir,” said the Senorita Val- 
verde, interrupting him. “Ysa.,” she asked, hastily 
turning to her cousin, “have you any money?” 

‘ Not a bit, dear coz. You know I spent it all upon 
the pistols.” 

“And I have nothing. What’s to be done ?” 

“If it’s merely a question of coin, ladies, why 


A SURRENDER OF JEWELRY. 


255 


should you distress yourself? I observe that you’ve 
both got watches and jewelry upon your persons. 
That will do equally well. I fancy the shop-keepers 
of San Augustin will take them in lieu of the provis- 
ions we require. If not, I know a way of converting 
them into coin.” 

“True! true!” exclaimed the young ladies 
together. “ Here, sir, are our watches. Do what you 
will with them, but lose no time in relieving your com- 
rades in misfortune.” 

“Have no fear of that,” rejoined the dwarf. 
“With your generous help I shall not be' slow in re- 
leasing them from their distressed situation. And 
while you’re about it, Sehoritas — excuse me for the 
suggestion — you may as well add those rings and 
brooches. It may be some time before I dare venture 
down into the valley again. I can only come at the 
risk of my miserable life ; which, strange as it may 
seem to you, is of as much value to me as if I were 
straight and handsome like the Senores Ruperto and 
Florencio.” 

The ladies glanced significantly at one another and 
sympathizingly towards Zorillo. Both understood the 
appeal, and responded to it by at once giving up their 


25(5 


A SURRENDER OF JEWELRY. 


jewels, stripping themselves of every article of value 
upon their person. They pulled the rings from their 
fingers and plucked the diamond drops from their deli- 
cate ears, and then, reaching up to the top of the wall, 
poured all into the palms of the misshapen monster, 
eagerly extended to receive them. 

As his long fingers closed over the sparkling 
treasure like the tentacles of a tarentula a grin of 
demoniac triumph shot out from his sunken eyes ; and 
simply saying, “ Gracios, Senoritas !” (thanks young 
ladies), he slipped down behind the wall, relieving 
them fiom a sight almost as painful as the having to 
part with their costly bijouterie. 

“ What matters it, Luisa ? We can get money and 
buy more.” 

“ Oh, dearest Ysa., to think that my Florencio has 
been two days without tasting food !” 

“And hasn’t my Ruperto been the same ? Never 
mind ! They will now have a feast, with the additional 
pleasure of knowing who has provided it.” 


A TWILIGHT ENCOUNTER. 


257 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

A TWILIGHT ENCOUNTER. 

In the cities or towns of Mexico there is nothing 
that may properly be termed a suburb : that is, there 
are few straggling houses. Most of the cities, and 
even the country towns, are engirt by a wall, with 
gates intended for the collection of the inland revenue 
or tax upon all commodities brought to the market. 
These gates, or “ garitas,” as they are called, resemble 
the barriers in Paris, France, and are kept up for a 
somewhat similar purpose. 

There are two other reasons for the compactness 
of Mexican cities — revolutions and robbers. 

Although there is not a surrounding wall to the 
town of San Augustin de las Cuevas, its houses have 
no scattering suburb, but end abruptly as you pass 
out towards the country. In a score or two of paces 
you are among the fields, travelling upon a solitary 
road. 

That leading to the City of Mexico skirts the Ped- 


258 


A TWILIGHT ENCOUNTER. 


regal, whose rough rocks of lava approach within a 
few hundred yards of the entrance to the village. 

On that same evening on which the dwarf appeared 
in the garden of Don Ignacio’s country house, and 
about an hour later, a man was seen moving along 
this road, his face towards the town and less than a 
quarter of a mile from the outermost houses. 

As he was in his shirt-sleeves, and bearing only a 
couple of halters in his hand, it was evident he could 
not have come from a very great distance. He had 
not — for it was only our old friend Jose, Don Ignacio’s 
coachman, returning from a piece of town pasture to 
which he had been taking his master’s horses — the 
same pair of high bloods that had so efficiently served 
the prisoners in their escape from the sew'ers. Of 
course, they had been afterwards caught and returned 
to their owner. 

The faithful and heroic Jose belonged to that class 
of mixed-breed Mexicans who supply the houses 'of 
the “ recos,” or rich men, with their staff of domestic 
servants, and who for honesty, amiability, and many 
other good qualities, are not surpassed by any other 
servants in the world. They are usually of a con- 
tented and easily controlled disposition ; withal hav- 


A TWILIGHT ENCOUNTER. 


259 


ing a dash of independence, as becomes the children 
of a republic — even such a republic as Mexico. Not a 
fraction of flunkyism in their nature — of that kind 
felt and practiced apiong the Jeameses of aristocratic 
England. 

Jose’s fidelity may be guessed at from the readi- 
ness with which he entered into the. scheme for set- 
ting free the Acordada prisoners at the bidding of his 
young mistress ; and his courage was proved by the 
same ; since he knew well enough the danger to which 
he would himself be exposed, not only from the 
chances of getting a bullet through his body, but from 
punishment should his connivance become known. 

The immediate peril had passed ; still was he not 
yet clear. As already stated, he had been taken up 
and had gone through a process of examination, after 
which, though the intercession of his master, he had 
been set free, though only on bail. But he knew it 
would not end thus, or, at all events, he suspected it. 
Certain speeches let drop by his accusers and judges 
during the trial, caused him to conjecture that the 
case might be brought on again, when perhaps he 
wouldn’t be the only accused, but that his young mis- 
tress and her cousin might be beside him. The faith- 


260 


A TWILIGHT ENCOUNTER. 


ful fellow felt more uneasiness for them than himself ; 
for he had reason to know how much they had comi- 
promised themselves. 

He had made up his mind to do. all in his power to 
screen them, and would swear to anything that might 
favor this design — that black was blue, or white, if nec- 
essary ; and as he returned home slowly along the 
road, he was walking with eyes upon the ground, 
reflecting on what would be the best story for him to 
tell ; not for his own benefit, but that of the young 
ladies. 

The road was deserted and lonely, not a solitary 
passenger appearing upon it ; and as the twilight was 
now on, and the darkness increased by the over- 
shadowing of some tall poplar trees, he could not see 
more than a hundred yards ahead of him. Still what 
light there was fell in his favor, and against the 
chances of any one first seeing him who came from the 
opposite direction. • Farther on towards town the 
rows of poplars terminated, and beyond them the 
causeway stretched clear of bordering trees, and was 
therefore under a lighter tinge of the twilight. It was 
there clear enough for him to see to a greater distance, 
and as he continued to advance he could distinguish a 


A TWILIGHT ENCOUNTER- 


261 


dark form coming toward him as if from the town. 
At first this form had the semblance of a quadruped, 
but gradually, as it drew nearer, Don Ignacio’s coach- 
man could see that it was a biped and a human being, 
though one of figure so deformed as scarcely to de- 
serve the appellation of human. It was the hideous 
hunchback, Zorillo. 

The coachman having shared his box with him on 
that wild ride, recognized the dwarf at a glance ; and 
it was only a question as to whether he should remain 
upon the road and encounter, or turn aside and shun 
him. He could tell that Zorillo had not as yet seen 
him, for the shadow of the poplars prevented it. 

He stopped to consider, and a crowd of reflections 
rushed into his mind. They were most of them rather 
remembrances. He remembered the antipathy shown 
by Cris Rock to this strange creature, which seemed 
to be shared by his other fellow-prisoners. He 
remembered, too, how unceremoniously they had all 
three treated him, and their reluctance to take him 
along with them on leaving the carriage. Besides, in 
addition to his unprepossessing physical appearance, 
there was something sinister in Zorillo’s glance that 
had struck Jose, leading him to believe that in some 


262 ^ 


A TWILIGHT ENCOUNTEE. 


way or another the hunchback was an enemy to his 
late fellows in misfortune. 

How came he to be there ? He was going along 
the road^alone, it is true, but openly, and as if without 
fear of being molested. As a fugitive from justice he 
should have dreaded being taken back to his jail. 
Why was he not, like the others, in some place of con- 
cealment ? 

There was something in this to excite the coach- 
man’s suspicions and make him cautious about coming 
to an encounter. He could avoid it without difficulty 
by simply gliding in behind a rock or tree, and there 
staying till the hunchback should pass the spot. He 
was at a point were the road runs close along the edge 
of the Pedregal, and opposite to him was an embay- 
ment — somewhat resembling an old gravel-pit — into 
which he might in three steps retreat, and find con- 
cealment in one of its dark recesses. 

He would, perhaps, have done this at once but for 
a reflection. He was curious to ascertain something 
of the fugitives, and whether they were still free. 
The dwarf must have accompanied them for some 
distance after parting from the place where the car- 
riage had been abandoned, and could, perhaps, tell 


A TWILIGHT EKCOUNTEK. 


263 


him something about their present place of abode. 
Jose was desirous of knowing it ; for he knew how 
very desirous were two young ladies whom he would 
gladden by giving them this information. 

But would Zorillo give it, even supposing he 
could ? He might or he might not. Perhaps he 
would say something to mislead. What was he there 
for — walking boldly and openly along the main high- 
way to Mexico ? 

Reflecting thus, Jose thought it might be better 
to follow the dwarf a bit, and, -if possible, ascertain 
where he was going and what he was doing. At all 
events, there could be no harm in dogging him for a 
short distance. The cripple-like creature could at 
any time be easily overtaken, and then — 

Jose’s reflections were interrupted, and by a sound 
that decided him as to the course he should pursue. 
It was the trampling of hoofs, which told of a troop of 
horsemen coming along the causeway in the opposite 
direction, from Mexico, and toward San Augustiir. 
And mingling with the duH'tread of the horses was 
the sharp, metallic tinkling of bits and the clanking of 
steel scabbards that told of the horsemen being sol- 


^64 


A TWILIGHT HNCOHnTEH. 


diers — beyond doubt a patrolling party of dragoons or 
other cavalry.. 

Don Ignacio’s coachman had no wish to await the 
coming up of these ; nor did the dwarf seem to desire 
an encounter with them : for, on the sounds first 
reaching him, he was seen to scramble off the road and 
conceal himself among some bushes by its side. 

But just at that moment a voice came from among 
the party of patrols, speaking some words of command ; 
and the hunchback, on hearing it, scrambled out again 
into the open road, as if he had recognized the speaker 
and had no fear of an encounter with him, but rather 
courted it. 

Jose also recognized the voice as that of Don Car- 
los Santander ; and just for this very reason did he, 
instead of desiring to be seen, make all haste to hide 
himself. 

In another instant he had stepped back into the 
embayment of the rocks and squeezed his body into a 
dark crevice he had already observed, where he would 
have been invisible to an eye that he might have 
touched with the tips of his fingers. 


A VOLUNTEER GUIDE. 


265 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

A VOLUNTEER GUIDE. 

Don Ignacio’s coachman had just succeeded in 
safely secreting himself, when the body of horsemen 
came abreast, their leader suddenly reining up and 
commanding the others to halt. 

Jose looked, as well as listened, to discover the 
cause, though he had a suspicion of what it was. 

“ Carrambo r exclaimed Santander, “ what is that 
on the road — a man or a monkey ?” 

“Whichever you please, Senor Don Carlos,” an- 
swered a shrill, squeaking voice, which Jose knew to 
be that of the hunchback. “ If your excellency will 
only condescend to take a good look at me, I flatter 
myself you will remember having seen me before.” 

Cai'rambo r again ejaculated the leader of the 
troop, which consisted only of a half score of men, 
evidently an escort. “As Pm a soldier, it’s the little 
dwarf who was chained to the big Texan giant ! 
Come, Seiior enano^ this is an unexpected encounter. 


266 


A VOLUNTEER GUIDE. 


What’s your trick, my fine specimen of humanity? 
You know you are an escaped convict, and therefore 
our prisoner ! Say, why have you saved us a search 
by presenting yourself in this free and easy fashion ?” 

“ Because, Senor Don Carlos, I am desirous to 
have a word with your exellency, and in truth was on 
my way to the city to seek this interview which for- 
tune favors me with.” 

“Your journey’s saved, then,” gleefully returned 
the officer, who was evidently gratified by the encoun- 
ter. “You shall have the interview now, and without 
going a step farther.” 

“I wish it to be a private one, Senor. For' your 
sake I wish it so.” • 

“Corporal !” called Santander to the soldier at the 
head of the escort, “ take the men a hundred yards 
farther up the road ; there halt and remain in readi- 
ness.” 

The corporal did as directed, leaving his leader 
alone with the ape-like figure alongside of him, who 
had drawn nearer and stood close to his toe in the 
stirrup. 

But as if for greater security against being over- 


A VOLUNTEER GUIDE. 


267 


heard, the dwarf sidled towards the opening in the 
rocky wall, the horseman necessarily following him. 

“Now, my beauty !” demanded the latter, as soon 
as he had got his horse to stand at rest. “What’s 
your business with me ?” 

“You have been searching for Sehor Don Ruperto 
and the two Texans?” was the dwarf’s rejoinder. 
“Your excellency has not succeeded in finding them ?” 

“True enough, sirrah, if that be any satisfaction to 
you.” 

“ What would your excellency give to know where 
they all are ?” 

“At this moment?” 

“At this very moment.” 

“Do you know, my fellow?’' 

“ How could I help knowing, your excellency ? 
Wasrr’t I carried off along with them, though greatly 
against my will ? I’ve been all the way to their hiding- 
place.” 

“ Ha ! but why did you not stay there ?” 

“Because I’ve been treated scurvily by them. If, 
as they tell me, I’m not very nice to look at, that’s 
nature’s fault, not mine. But it’s their fault if I have 


268 


A VOLUNTEER GUIDE. 


feelings of spite against them. To be candid with 
you, Senor Don Carlos, I want revenge, and that’s 
why I’ve sought you.” 

“Well, that’s all natural enough; and with 
these motives it shouldn’t be hard to make a bargain 
with you for one who can give you revenge. You 
say you know where Don Ruperto and the Texans 
have taken refuge ?” 

“ The exact spot.” 

“ You will have no objection to tell me ?” 

“ Not the slightest, even if your excellency could 
find the way to it. But you could not without me for 
a guide who’s already been there. No directions 
would serve you.” 

“ And, pray, where is this place so difficult to 
find ?” 

“ It is up the mountains — on the side of th^ Sierra 
Ajusco. There is an old ruin — a convent it was once. 
Part of it is still fit for living in, and in it are now 
living the Senor Don Ruperto, his Texan friends, and 
nearly fifty others.” 

“ Ah — fifty ! Who and what are they ?” 

“Your excellency may easily tell that — robbers, of 


course. 


A VOLUNTEER GUIDE. 


269 


Santander drew a long breath that seemed expres- 
sive of satisfaction. 

“ And you want a reward for guiding a party to 
the place ?” 

“ Your excellency has said it exactly.” 

“ What reward ? Don’t be exacting. Remember 
you are again a prisoner, and must go back to the 
Acordada.” 

“ I know it ; but your excellency should also 
remember that I’ve had my freedom and might have 
kept it.” 

“ You are a condemned criminal ; will not a full 
pardon content you ?” 

“ If the Senor Santander thinks that enough, 
it will. I must leave it to your excellency’s pleas- 
ure.” 

“ Enough. If you guide our soldiers to where 
these brigands can be found, you shall have your 
pardon, at any rate. If they be taken, you can trust 
to my generosity for something more. Back here. 
Corporal, and bring a file of men along with you.” 

The corporal came riding back along the road, two 
of the troopers close after him. 

“ Here, you men,” said Santander, “ take charge 


270 


A VOLUNTEER GUIDE. 


of this grotesque specimen of biped or quadruped, 
whichever it is, and see you don’t let it get away from 
you. Stay upon this spot till I return.” 

Saying this, he wheeled his horse out into the road, 
and trotted off towards Tlalpam, followed by the 
clattering troop. 


A GRUMBLING GUARD. 


27i 


1 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

A GRUMBLING GUARD. 

The two men left in chaige of their strange-look- 
ing captive did not seem to be too well satisfied with 
the duty thus assigned to them. One, more especi- 
ally, gave tokens of chagrin. 

I like this,” he said, looking after the troop as it 
trotted off. “ So we must stay with this thing till he 
returns, while they go to enjoy themselves in a very 
different kind of company. Demonios T he added, 
with a growl, lifting himself reluctantly out of the 
saddle. “ It’s too bad ! And when I was in hopes of 
getting the chance to have a chat with the pretty 
Pepita. Get out, you ugly imp !” 

The concluding portion of the speech was to the 
hunchback, who, along with it, received a kick that 
came near sending him on all fours. 

“ Mercy, master !” he exclaimed ; “ don’t be so 
cruel to a poor fellow-creature.” 

“ Fellow-creature ! That’s good — ha, ha, ha !” and 


A aJiUMBLiNG GUARD. 


the brutal soldier laughed till the rocks rang with his 
fiendish cachinnation. 

“I’m sorry,’' said the dwarf, “to be the cause of 
your disappointment. It isn’t at all necessary you 
should stay with me. You may know I have no 
intention to run away, else why should I have given 
myself up ! You saw that I did it of my own free 
will.’’ 

“That’s true enough,” remarked the second soldier. 

“Well,” continued the voluntary prisoner, “if your 
comrade prefers to spend his evening with the pretty 
Pepita he speaks of, why should he not go to her? 
Don’t let me be an obstacle.” 

Jose overhearing all this from out his silent recess 
felt a strange storm of pain. It was half fear, half in- 
dignation. He knew the Pepita spoken of was his 
own sweetheart, and also who was the soldier thus 
making so free with her name. The unpleasantness 
was but for a moment. It passed on his hearing 
what was said by the man’s comrade. 

“Bah!” he contemptuously exclaimed, “what 
would be the use if you did see Pepita ! You’re but 
bragging, Don Pablo. That sweet damsel looks to 
something higher than a poor soldier like me or you. 


A GRUMBLING GUARD. 


‘273 


She would not let you touch the tip of her little 
finger.” 

A savage growl was the only response of him who 
aspired to the smiles of Pepita — to Jose, perhaps, the 
most gratifying answer he could have given. 

But Don Ignacio’s coachman now found himself in 
a dilemma of a "different kind. The two troopers had 
dismounted and led their horses inside the entrance of 
the embayment where he had secreted himself, and 
into which the dwarf had already preceded them. 
They were evidently bent upon making it their place 
of bivouac till the escort’s return. 

The little cove was a triangular space, having no 
outlet at the back, and with its base resting upon the 
road. A wall of rock rose around it to a height of at 
least twenty feet sheer. The crevice in which Jose 
had concealed himself was at the inner apex of the 
triangle, while the troopers, with their horses on each 
side of them, and their prisoner between, formed a 
line that extended all the way across the entrance. 
How was he to get out ? Had there been no other 
obect than merely to return home he would not have 
much minded it. But now there was, and one of the 
greatest importance. The conversation between San- 


274 


A GRUMBLING GUARD. 


tander and the dwarf told him two things — the place 
where the fugitives were, and the danger they were in 
of being retaken. It would be necessary to give them 
warning ; and he knew that as soon as the young 
ladies learnt the situation of affairs he would be dis- 
patched upon this very errand. By good fortune he 
he knew the ruin of which Zorillo had spoken. He 
had been brought up among the mountains, in a val- 
ley not far from the place where his father was a 
burner of charcoal. When a boy he had often visited 
the old monastery, and could still easily find the way 
to it. It was not likely that Santander would set out 
that night for it. There were fifty men mentioned, 
and he had not soldiers enough along with him. Still 
there was no time to be lost, as an-expedition could be 
conducted thither at an early hour of the morning. 

Don Ignacio’s coachman saw that he was in a trap, 
out of which there was no chance of escape without 
discovering himself to the troopers. To do this might 
not have been dangerous, so far as the soldiers were 
concerned, though under the circumstances he would 
have preferred not coming in contact even with them. 

But with their prisoner the thing was not to be 
thought of. Zorillo would remember him, and could 


A GRUMBLING GUARD. 


275 


not help having his suspicions of the part he had played 
on that memorable occasion, when he shared with 
him the driver’s seat. Moreover, the dialogue between 
Santander and the hunchback had taken place so 
close to his place of concealment that there could be 
no doubt about the latter knowing that he must have 
heard every word of it. To expose himself now -would 
be worse than imprudence, and would certainly end in 
his being detained by the troopers, who would do this 
at the instigation of the ’prisoner already in their 
charge. 

There seemed but one way that promised him im- 
munity from arrest, and this was to remain in his 
place of concealment until Santander, with his escort, 
should come back '; when, in all likelihood, he w'ould 
be at once disembarrassed of their dangerous prox- 
imity. 

This was clearly his safest course, and having de- 
termined upon it, he kept in his crevice, silent as ever 
stood statue in its niche. 

The position was by no means a pleasant one — to 
say nothing of the predicament. He had only simple 
standing room, with no chance of sitting down to rest 
himself. Of this, however, he would have recked but 


276 


A GRUMBLING GUARD. 


little, had it not been for the thought of what he had 
just heard, and his anxiety about the safety of the 
men he had himself been so instrumental in assisting 
to escape. 

Notwithstanding this anxiety, it was not destined 
he should stay there without some entertainment. He 
had -not been ten minutes in his private box before a 
little comedy occurred, of sufficient interest to hinder 
the time from seeming tedious. As the first portion 
of it was performed in ’darkness, he was an auditor 
rather than a spectator ; but as if to favor the spectacle, 
the moon at length rose up over the Pedregal, and 
shone down into the little embayment on its edge, 
pouring a flood of mellow light upon the performers. 

The first act was a conversation between the two 
troopers as to how they were to pass the time until 
their chief’s return. 

‘‘ If we only had a pack of cards,” said one. 

“Yes; if we only had that and a bit of candle, a 
game of monte \you\<1 be just the thing.” 

“ As for the candle,” said the first speaker, “ I could 
easily find a substitute. There’s torch-wood about 
here, if I’m not mistaken ; and if there isn’t, I’ve 


A GllUMBLING GUARD. 


277 


played many an albu7' of monte with no other li^ht than 
a cigarito. Well, let us have that, anyhow.” 

So saying, he commenced fumbling for his flint 
and steel, which, being found, there were sparks, and 
soon after a steady, red light that told of the coal 
upon the end of a cigar. His comrade, going through 
a similar operation, also exhibited a glowing disc, near 
the tip of his nose, from the ignited end of a puro^ or 
Mexican cheroot. 


278 


PLUNDERING A PRISONER. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

PLUNDERING A PRISONER. 

For a time the two troopers sat smoking in silence, 
lulled into contentment by the soothing influence of 
the nicotian. Not for long. Their beloved monte once 
more came uppermost in their minds and became the 
the subject of their discourse. 

“ What carelessness,” said one, “ stupid, culpable 
negligence, not to have thought of bringing a pack 
along with us ! After all who could have supposed 
we were going to be stuck up here ?” 

“ No ; you’d prepared yourself for spending the 
evening with Pepita. I noticed you giving an extra 
twist to your mustache as we came out of the quar- 
ters.” 

Bah ! Don’t bother me about Pepita ! I’d 
rather, just now, have a pack of cards. Haven’t you 
got such a thing, Senor enano ?” , 

“ No, Seilor,” promptly answered the dwarf thus 


addressed. 


PLUNDERING A PRISONER. 279 

“And why the deuce haven’t you?” retorted the 
trooper, fiercely, as if to satisfy his spleen by an attack 
upon their prisoner. “ By the way, what have you got 
upon you ? Come, comrade !” he continued, address- 
ing himself to his fellow-soldier. “We haven’t been 
doing our duty in leaving the prisoner unsearched. 
Who knows but he may have some dangerous weapon 
concealed upon his person. Let us see what he has 
got, anyhow !” 

“ I’ve got nothing, Senores,” hastily protested the 
dwarf. “ Nothing whatever, I assure you.” 

“That’s a lie, you little monster; and if there was 
light, I could see it sticking right out of your teeth. 
But I know it’s a lie from your being so quick with 
your denial. We shall see. Here, Pedrito. Help me 
to search him. You take hold by the shoulders, while 
I run my fingers over the outlines of his ugly carcass. 
Carrambo ! It’s like groping one’s way round the stems 
of a cactus plant.” 

The soldier ceased speaking, for it was now Zoril- 
lo’s turn to talk. 

He did so fluently, and in tone of protest, at the 
same time making demonstrations to prevent them 
from searching him. All to no purpose. It only 


280 


PLUNDERING A PRISONER. 


increased their eagerness, and perhaps also their 
cupidity. 

There must be something of a valuable kind upon 
the prisoner, else he would not show such anxious 
opposition. 

It but made them the more determined ; and laying 
hold of him, one by the shoulders, the other com- 
menced searching his pockets. 

“What’s this !” exclaimed the latter, pulling out a 
watch. Carrambo ! it’s a timekeeper, and by the feel 
it should be a gold one. Another, as I’m a soldier! 
Why, comrade, the little wretch is loaded down with 
watches — gold ones, too — I can tell by the feel of them 
between my fingers 1 This is luck — better than a pack 
of cards ! Thanks to the blessed Virgin for sending 
us such a treasure of a captive. Isn’t he a little 
beauty ?” 

The dwarf no longer made resistance. He saw it 
would be idle. He was instantly deprived of the two 
watches he had obtained by “false pretence.’’ 

Pablo, the chief despoiler, smoked his cigar till the 
end showed a glowing coal ; then holding the watches 
close to it, one by one, he examined the cases. 

“I thought so,’’ he said, on perceiving that these 


PLUNDERING A PRISONER. 


281 


were of gold. “Both of the true shining metal, and 
both belonging to the gem lady — I’ve no doubt splen- 
did timekeepers. So, Sir Dwarf, you’ve been driving 
a little business on the sly in the footpad line, I sup- 
pose ? It seems your late spell of prison life hasn’t 
spoilt your hand. Carra7nbo ! I’m right glad of it.” 

“ Half mine, remember,” said Pedrito. “ Lucky 
there’s two of them — that will be a watch apiece.” 

Pablo seemed not quite convinced as to the justice 
of this claim. At all events he showed a reluctance to 
part with either of the watches. 

“Stay,” he said, as if struck with some idea of sub- 
terfuge. “ Time enough to talk of sharing spoils when we 
know of what they consist. Where these shining eggs 
came from there should be something else. Even the 
droppings of such a fine bird ought to be worth pick- 
ing up. Let’s search his pockets to the bottom.” 

“Agreed,” said the other; and they once more 
took hold of the hunchback and commenced groping 
all over him. 

He still made no show of resistance, but rather 
aided them in their examination by unbuttoning his 
vest and turning his pockets inside out. 

They found nothing more. This time he had been 


^82 


PLUNDERING A PRISONER. 


too cunning for them. While they were scrutinizing 
the watch-cases by the light of their cigars, a motion 
of his long arm, ending in a quick jerk, told that he 
had flung something away. It was a little cloth wallet 
containing the rings and other jewelry stripped from 
the fingers and ears of the young ladies. He had 
chucked it behind him into a dark recess in the rocks, 
where he intended it should lie till he might have an 
opportunity of retrieving it. 

The adroit act, though unperceived by the troopers, 
was not altogether unseen. Jose, crouching down, 
against the gray glimmer of the sky saw the move- 
ment of Zorillo’s arm, and the next moment felt some- 
thing strike him in the face, which fell through 
between his knees to his feet. He picked it up, and 
without staying to examine it, quietly slipped it into 
his pocket. But fancying it must be something of 
value he was now more then ever anxious to get away 
from the place. He perhaps had a fortune upon his 
person, and as it was a case of stolen property all 
round he did not see why he should not come in for a 
share of it. 

Once more he rose erect and examined the rocks 
above his head. He groped with his hands and felt 


PLUNDERING A- prisoner. 


283 


there was a ledge. Looking higher, as the slanting 
moonlight allowed him, he could trace the outlines of 
another. If he could but reach this last he might 
climb up to the top of the cliff, and steal off through 
the Pedregal above. 

Jose was a mountaineer by birth as well as by 
training. He could scale precipices, or swarm up the 
trunks of trees like a cat or a monkey. And he had 
now two distinct thoughts to move him to the utmost 
exertion — one, the prospect of an advantage to him- 
self — the other, a desire to befriend his young mistress 
and Her cousin by warning their lovers of the danger 
that threatened them. 

Inspired by this double motive, he determined on 
climbing the cliff. ^ 

After a more careful scrutiny of its fagade, he had 
less fear of failing to ascend it than of being heard 
while making the ascent. A slip backwards — even the 
scraping of his feet against the stones — might be 
fatal, and lead to his detection by the troopers. 

Fortunately, these two gentlemen had commenced 
a quarrel about the distribution of the watches. They 
had agreed upon each having one, but there was a 
difference in the size and quality which led to a dis- 


284 


PLUNDERING A PRISONER. 


pute that had waxed hot, and was each moment grow- 
ing hotter. The talk between them had become loud 
— the dwarf joining in, and apparently encouraging 
the quarrel. While it w^as still on the crescendo scale 
Jose silently dropped the horse halters at his feet, laid 
hold of the first ledge, and noiselessly raising himself 
up, reached the second terrace in a similar fashion. 
Thence gaining the top of the cliff, like a shadow he 
glided away through the dark, tortuous pathways of 
the Pedregal. 


THE WATCHES RESTORED. 


285 


CHAPTER XL. 

THE WATCHES RESTORED. 

It was some time before the two troopers could 
_come to a satisfactory understanding about the appro- 
priation of the watches. He who had first proposed 
searching their prisoner, on that score, claimed the 
right of choice. 

This doctrine was repudiated by the other, who 
said it made no difference about which of them had 
suggested the search, as he would himself certainly 
have made it all the same. It was only a question of 
time. 

The dispute was, at length, settled — or, rather, 
suspended — by a proposal that the property should 
remain unappropriated by either party till they should 
have an opportunity of deciding the point by a game 
of cards, and then there would be no need to divide 
the spoils, since either one should have neither or 
both. 

The dwarf had his own idea as to what would 


286 


THE WATCHES KESTORED; 


eventually be done with the time-pieces, though he 
said nothing. He was silently, but not the less sav- 
agely, indignant with the two troopers, who, besides 
plundering, had treated him in every sense ungracious- 
ly. He had determined upon having his revanche^ 
though it v.'ould cost him an exposure, along with 
some disturbance of a scheme he had not intended to 
act upon till a later period of time. Spitefully furious 
as he felt against the Texan, Cris Rock, he was now 
almost as angry with his own countrymen, the soldiers, 
who had acted toward him with a still more causeless 
brutality. There is no denying that nature had been 
unkind to the poor, misshapen wretch, in so misshap- 
ing him ; and it is not so much to be wondered at that 
his hand was against everybody, since everybody’s 
hand seemed against him. 

When they had arrived at an understanding about 
the distribution of the plunder the two troopers once 
more re-lit their cigars, and seating themselves upon 
some loose stones, waited for the return of the escort. 
The time did not now hang so heavily on their hands. 

The prize they had so unexpectedly become pos- 
sessed of reconciled them to their situation, and they 
could now pass the hours pleasantly enough reflecting 


THE WATCHES RESTORED. 


287 


on the many fine things that could be procured in 
exchange for a couple of gold watches, both of which 
they knew to be valuable. What visions of enjoyment 
danced before their imagination ! Cigars, cognac, 
cards, with the smiles of pretty sweethearts ! 

It never occurred to them that their prisoner would 
make any claim for the restitution of the property. 
He had stolen it, they felt certain, and should there- 
fore be only too contented to say nothing about hav- 
_ ing had it in his possession. He ought rather to 
rejoice at their having given him the opportunity to 
conceal the evidences of his theft. They told him so, 
adding a terrible threat of vengeance if he should 
make any report about their having despoiled him. 
Their prisoner made verbal promise to this effect ; 
.but had there been light enough for them to have seen 
the sullen, reluctant look that accompanied his words, 
they might have had suspicions of that promise being 
kept. 

Nor was it for an hour longer. In less than half 
this time the escort was seen returning along the 
road, Santander riding at its head, to whom, as soon 
as he’ arrived upon the ground, the indignant dwarf 
recounted the whole story of his despoilment. 


288 


THE WATCHES RESTORED. 


“Your excellency,” he said, as soon as Santander 
came up, “ I’m your prisoner ; but you will admit that 
I made a voluntary surrender of my person.” 

“ Your person !" repeated Santander, with a laugh 
at the idea of the dwarf so speaking of his deformed 
figure, that now in the clear moonlight was outlined 
in all its deformity. The laugh was loudly chorused 
by the escort, the two troopers alone taking no part in 
it. 

“ Well, gentlemen,” said Zorillo to the soldiers, in 
a tone savoring of reproach, ‘ you may be merry if 
you like. I can’t hinder you from that no more than 
I can help being as God has made me. I think you’ll 
all acknowledge it’s more my misfortune than my 
fault ?” 

The ribald laughter was checked, Santander him- 
self feeling a little ashamed of the unfeeling remark 
he had made. 

“You wish to tell me something?” he said, 
addressing himself to the dwarf. “ What is it ?” 

“ Only that these two worthy gentlemen you left 
to take care of me have taken better care of them- 
selves. I could have got away from them half a 
dozen times since you left. But as you know, Sefior 


THE WATCHES RESTOEED. 


289 


Don Carlos, I didn’t want to go off ; and I am much 
less anxious now until my property be restored to 
me.” 

‘ Property ! What property ?” 

‘ My two gold watches.” 

‘ Two gold watches ! Where are they .?” 

‘ They are now in the pockets of these worthy 
gentlemen. Half an hour ago they were in mine.” 

“ Scoundrels !” thundered out the officer, turning 
to the two men. “ Is this true ?” 

The dismounted troopers hung their heads without 
making response. 

“ Search them, Corporal !” 

‘It don’t need that, Senor Don Carlos,” said one 
of the men in a sullen, dogged tone. “ We admit hav- 
ing taken two watches from him, as we had the right 
from a prisoner. But we didn’t intend keeping 
them.” 

“ Deliver them up, on the instant !” was the quick, 
authoritative command. 

It was like drawing a tooth from each from the two 
troopers ; but the watches were at length surrendered 
into the hands of Santander himself. 

“You stole these?” he said, turning to Zorillo. 


290 


THE WATCHES RESTORED. 


“ I did not. I swear to your excellency I did not. 
I came honestly by them, both of them.” 

“Well; I shall inquire into that by and by. 
There’s no time for an investigation now. Here, Cor- 
poral, mount this monkey behind one of the men and 
bring him along to the city. See that he don’t slip off. 
Forward !” 

Zorillo was swung up to the croup behind one of 
the troopers, and the escort proceeded on its way ; 
but before parting from the spot the dwarf cast a 
searching glance into the shadowy embayment of the 
cliff, as if to mark in his memory the place where the 
precious bijouterie had been cast, and where he sup- 
posed it would safely remain till he should find an 
opportunity of retrieving it. 


TYRANT AND TOOL. 


291 


CHAPTER XLI. 

TYRANT AND TOOL. 

Don Carlos Santander stood in the presence of 
Don Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna. 

“Take as many men as you like. Take the whole 
army if it so pleases you ; only leave me enough troops 
to defend the capital in case of some fool getting up a 
revolution. Will that satisfy you, Don Carlos ?” 

“ Whatever seems good to your excellency. If I 
may be allowed to suggest, I should say that it is not 
to the credit of the army that these Texans should 
so easily have escaped from a guard of its soldiers. 
They are your excellency’s bitter enemies, and so also 
is one of the men who went away along with them.” 

“ His name ?” 

“ Ruperto Rivas.” 

“ Ruperto Rivas !” exclaimed Santa Anna. “That 
fellow, indeed ! I knew I had him in prison, and 
intended keeping him there. It was he who got away 
with these Texans, was it ? There was a fourth, was 
there not ?” 


292 


TYKAI^’T AND TOOL. 


“ There was, your excellency — a worthless, de- ^ 
formed creature — both hunchback and dwarf — by 
name Zorillo.” 

“What, a dwarf and a giant ! One of the Texans, 

I hear, was such. Were these two chained together?” 

“They were, so the governor of the jail has in- 
formed me. ’ 

“ Ha, ha, ha ! What a grotesque coupling it must 
have been ! I should have liked to look upon such a 
contrast of humanity. Whose idea was it to string 
the two specimens together?” 

“ The jail governor’s, I presume. I believe the 
Texan had shown some insubordination — struck a 
sentinel, or something of the kind — and he was 
coupled to the dwarf by way of punishment.” 

“ Not bad — not bad ! Well, Don Carlos, do as you 
like in this matter. Take as many men as you may 
need ; only, as I’ve said before, don’t strip the capital 
of troops.” 

Santander knew this was only a joke, for the Mex- 
ican Dictator, though generally grave and sometimes 
grim, at times indulged in light speech, and enjoyed 
a bit of cajolery. 

His staff officer having obtained this full permis- 


TYRANT AND TOOL. 


293 


sion to make use of the troops, was bowing himself 
out of the presence, when a thought seemed all at 
once to strike the Dictator. By the sudden shadow 
- on his brow, and the quick contraction of his thin lips, 
it had the look of a suspicion. 

“ Stay, Santander !” he said. “ Something occurs 
to me. I wish to ask you a question.” 

“ Your excellency ?” 

“What are the names of the Texans who have 
escaped ? I never thought of asking before.” 

“ The. giant is called Rock ; he only is a true 
Texan ; the other is an Irishman. His name is — ” 

Don Florencio Kearney?” 

“That is the name, your excellency,” answered 
Santander, in some surprise at seeing Santa Anna so 
earnest. 

“ Carrai /” exclaimed the Dictator, springing up 
from his seat and stamping his cork leg upon the 
floor. “This is truly strange! Escaped in Don 
Ignacio’s carriage, you say ? And the Senorita — 
Ha — ha ! there’s rnore here than meets the eye ! Go ! 
Get troops ! Take a whole regiment — two, if you 
need them ! Scour the whole country — don’t leave a 
spot unsearched ! Bring back this Texan, or Irish- 


294 


TYRANT AND TOOL. 


man, whichever he is, and at whatever cost ! Do so, 
and you shall have a reward ! I want him — I want 
him !” 

And so did Santander want him, and for a similar 
reason, though neither knew the motive of the other. 
Both wanted to destroy him ; Santa Anna because he 
suspected that Luisa Valverde felt too strong an inter- 
est in this imprisoned stranger — her petition to him- 
self was proof of it — and Santander from an older and 
more definite knowledge of the relationship that had 
existed between them. 

And now the known circumstances of the escape — 
in the carriage of Don Ignacio Valverde, with his 
daughter present upon the spot — it could scarce be 
coincidence. 

Santa Anna gritted his teeth like a tiger when the 
affair became thus fully revealed to him. Don Carlos 
Santander had ^one likewise at an earlier period. 
Both were aiming at the same end, or, at all events, 
something similar. The object of the tyrant was only 
more dishonorable than that of his tool. 

Take all the troops you may need, Don Carlos,” 
said Santa Anna, after a short while spent in storming 
about the room. “ I needn’t urge you to be energetic 


TYRANT AND TOOL. 


295 


in your attempts to retake these Texans. I know you 
will be so — a very commendable patriotism on your 
part.” 

There was a hidden sarcasm in the remark. Santa 
Anna was fond of it at all times, but now he had 
reason to suspect the motive for his subordinate’s 
activity. 

After his half sneering laudation, he continued : 

“ Have you heard anything about their supposed 
whereabouts ?” 

“I have, your excellency.” 

“What, pray.?” 

“ I know where they are at this very moment.” 

“Ah ! that’s something definite. If they be still in 
Mexico, and not gone up to the moon, I suppose we 
may hope to get possession of them again. Where ?” 

“It appears that there’s an old ruined convent 
away up somewhere upon the sides of the Sierra Ajus- 
co, and buried deep among the woods.” 

“ Yes ; I remember having heard speak of such a 
place. It was a monastery, I believe, of Carmelites, or 
some other sect of anchoritish friars, abandoned half a 
century ago. I’ve heard say it is in a singular situ- 


296 


TYRANT AND TOOL. 


ation, almost inaccessible. Is that the place you refer 
- to ?” 

“Your excellency, I doubt not but that it is the 
same.” 

“ Well — what of the old monastery ?” 

“ I have learnt that in this ruin, which appears still 
to have some habitable chambers, aT band of brigands 
have for some time quartered themselves ; that they 
are not real robbers, but rather political refugees — 
enemies to your excellency's government as to your- 
self ; who live as they best can at the expense of 
country people. At the head of this organization of 
conspirators, their chief, in fact, is the Senor Ruperto 
Rivas, and that he is at this present time, along with 
his late fellow-prisoners, under what remains of the 
roof of the old convent.” 

“You are sure of this, Don Carlos?” said the Dic- 
tator, after a moment spent in silent musing. 

“ I have certain information of it, your excellency.” 

“ From whom ?” 

“From one who has been to the place ; who fol- 
lowed them thither after their escape ; who saw them 
enter the ruin, who entered it himself, and stayed 
there long enough to make sure that it is their per- 


TYRANT AND TOOL. 


'297 


manent place of abode. Not only are Ruperto Rivas 
and his two Texan guests now dwelling there, but 
young Mireno, Yanez, Miranda, and the 'two Garcias. 
It’s a regular roosting-place for your enemies. But 
now that your excellency has intrusted the affair to 
me, with troops sufficient for its execution, I think I 
can trap these birds in their snug nest.” 

“Take troops enough. Bring back the whole flock 
with you. A regiment — two if you require them; 
and whatever else may be needed. Do you want any- 
thing more ?” 

“ Nothing more, only — ” 

“ Only what ?” 

“I fear your excellency may be offended if I 
approach you upon a subject — ” 

“ No fear ; speak out, Don Carlos Santander.” 

“ I am but a servant, who has given your excel- 
lency my sword — I may add my soul’s devotion. If I 
succeed in ridding you of this gang of conspiring foes 
may I ask for a reward 

“And have it, too. What reward do you wish? 
Money ? I will give you five thousand dollars for the 
head of Ruperto Rivas. Fo'ol that I didn’t take it 
while I had him in my power ! A thousand each for 


298 


TYRANT AND TOOL. 


the heads of the two Texans. Will that satisfy you, 
Senor ?” 

“ It is not money I want, your excellency. Only a 
favor far more easy for you to bestow, and yoiL can 
bestow it.” 

“ Name it. Colonel Santander.” 

“The hand of the Senorita Valverde.” 

“ What ! The daughter of Don Ignacio ?” 

“Yes, your excellency; I wish to make her my 
wife.” 

The Dictator did not start. He was not surprised. 
He was not even altogether displeased. He did not 
want to make Luisa Valverde his wife. What differ- 
ence to him whose wife she might be so long as he 
remained her husband’s master? 

“What can I do to assist you?” was the question 
he put, with an air of humble innocence. “ The Sen- 
orita Valverde is the proper person to be consulted in 
such a matter, as also her father.” 

“Your excellency can do much — everything. To 
you Don Ignacio owes his present position.” 

“Rather say to yourself, Senor Don Carlos.” 

“ I was but the humble intercessor — your excellency 
was good enough to be the giver. As you give, so can 


TYRANT AND TOOL. 


299 


you take away. Yes, Senor Excellenza, you can give 
me all I ask and want.” 

“And that is a wife.” 

“A wife.” 

“Who must be the Dona Luisa Valverde.” 

“ She or none. I care for no other.” 

“Well ; I think I may promise, at all events^ to do 
my best for you. So now get ready to start. Take 
what soldiers you may need. Bring me back the men 
you speak of — and if not themselves, bring me their 
heads, their ears, any evidence they have ceased to be 
my enemies, and what you ask for shall be granted.” 

Some twenty minutes more were spent between 
him and his aid-de-camp arranging plans for the cap- 
ture of Ruperto Rivas and his cuadrilla of Free Lances ; 
and then Santander was dismissed from the presence. 
He left the palace^ armed with full authority to carry 
out these plans, and full determination to execute 
them. 

Ever since his return to Mexico, and the restoration 
of Don Ignacio to his country and estates — all due to 
himself — he had been conscious of a declining influence 
over both the father and daughter. He knew it 


300 


TYRANT AND TOOL. 


without knowing why. And he did not yet know ; 
for, blinded by his own evil designs, he had no sus- 
picion of the still more sinister intentions of his 
protector. 


A COUPLE OF RECRUITS. 


301 


CHAPTER XLII. 

A COUPLE OF RECRUITS. 

“ You consent to be one of us, Don Florencio ?” 

“I do.” 

“And you, Senor Cristoforo ?” 

“ Durn it, you needn’t ask me. I go wharsever the 
cap goes ; an’ though I moutn’t jest like sech^an affair 
as sechj seein’ as who it air you mean to plunder. I’m 
wi’ you heart an’ han’. For the chance o’ a shot at 
that shunk Santander, Cris Rock don’t mind risk o’ 
any kind — even to bangin’.” 

“ There won’t be much danger of that,” said 
Ruperto Rivas — for it was he who had put the inter- 
rogatories — “ though they would hang us, or do worse, 
if they could only catch us. We won’t give them the 
chance. If there’s to be any hanging done we’re more 
likely to be the hangmen than the hanged.” 

“ Wall, Saynyor Reeves,” rejoined the Texan, “this 
chile never cared much to swing up any mortal critter 
—not even a Injun. I allers purfurs putting a bit o’ 


302 


A COUPLE OF RECRUITS. 


lead through ’em, But thar’s two individooals in this 
hyar country I’d a most think it a sin to waste powder 
on, an’ one o’ them air Carlos Santander.” 

“ Who is the other, Cris ?” 

It was Kearney who put the question, wondering 
what other individual had excited such a strong 
antipathy in the breast of his Texan comrade. 

“ The durned dwarf, in coorse. An’ there air a 
third, now I think o’ it,” he added.- “ That’s ole game- 
leg himself.” 

Rock meant Santa Anna, who, in consequence of 
the loss ©f his leg, at the taking of Vera Cruz by the 
French under Joinville, was called by his countrymen 
“El Cojo,” or the “lame one,” translated by the 
Texans into the more jocular synonym of “game leg.” 

“ I’d heist him^" he added, the old Texan hostility 
with the memory of Fanning’s massacre causing the 
words to come hissing through his teeth, “ up to the 
fust tree that war tall enough ; an’ if there wa’n’t no 
tree to be foun’. I’d stand wi’ one o’ my own arms 
outstretched to make a scaffold for him. Thet wud 
I.” 

Neither of the others doubted what would have 
been Rock’s course of action had the Dictator of 


A COUPLE OF RECRUITS. 


303 


. Mexico fallen into his power. The tone in which he 
declared himself told how much he was in earnest ; 
and both knew of the inveterate and spiteful 
hatred entertained by every old Texan against Santa 
Anna. 

But Santa Anna was not the man they thought 
of just then, nor even Don Carlos Santander. The 
mention of the dwarf had struck a chord in the 
memory of all there that vibrated with something 
like apprehension. The strange creature had escaped 
from them on the night of that same day in which 
Cris Rock had captured him. Somewhat carelessly 
watched in one of the old convent cells, he had 
managed to wriggle his spider-like form through the 
narrow aperture that served as a window, leaving not 
a trace behind. 

They had searched all around, among the trees and 
walks — everywhere. They had examined the moun- 
tain paths, all of which were known to them ; and 
more especially that by which he must have .followed 
them up ; but even the keen eye of .Cris Rock could 
not discover the slightest “ sign ” to tell how their 
deformed captive had escaped. 

It was strange, too ; for there had been a heavy 


304 


A COUPLE OF EECKUITS. 


shower of rain just preceding the time at which he *> 
must have stolen off, and the sloping paths were all 
moist and slippery. A rabbit could not have passed 
over them without leaving the imprint of its wooly 
paws in the mud. 

Rivas and Kearney thought he might not have 
gone down the mountain at all, but was still near by 
hiding in some crevice or cave of the cliff. They were 
fain also to think he might have been only apprehen- 
sive about his life — frightened at the rough treatment 
he had received from the Texan — and that a mere 
instinct of self-preservation had led him to slip off as 
soon as an opportunity presented itself, and that once 
out of their power they would hear no more of him. 
Cris, however, held a different- opinion. 

He felt assured that the dwarf was acting from a 
preconcerted scheme, and that as there had been dan- 
ger to be apprehended from his presence, now more 
than ever might it be dreaded by his absence. Why 
should he have followed them up to the mountain — 
undergoing all the fatigues and difficulties of that pre- 
cipitous path ? His story was far from being a 
natural one. The reasons he had given for rejoining 
his late fellow-prisoners were not at all like the truth. 


A COUPLE OF RECKUITS. 


305 


And now that he had voluntarily forsaken them, their 
falsehood could no longer be doubted. Cris Rock 
had never doubted it from the first, and he now pro- 
nounced loudly and positively upon the treachery of 
the “gwarf,” as he contemptuously called him. 

“The ugly varmint aint in these hyar mountings 
no longer,” said he, when consulted by the others. 
“ He’s got out o’ them somehow ; though durn me ef 
I kin tell how, unless he’s swummed it over the tops o’ 
the trees, an’ I reckin he mout do that same, for, wi’ 
them long arms o’ his’n, he air more o’ a ape than a 
human. ’Twar all sorts o’ a mistake to hinder me 
from pitchin’ him over the clift when I had him in my 
clutches. You, Cap, called out cruel. Thar warn’t 
nothin’ cruel about it, for thar kin be no cruelty in 
clarin’ the yarth o’ a critter that kud only cuss it. 
Wal, he’s slipped us now, an’ I shedn’t wonder ef we 
hear o’ him afore long — him or his doin’s.” 

Rock’s words fell suggestively upon the ears of 
Rivas, filling him with apprehension. He could not 
help acknowledging their truth. It looked every way 
likely that their late prison companion had followed 
them up the mountain solely to discover their place of 
concealment ; and, having now succeeded in'becoming 


306 


A COUPLE OF RECRUITS. 


acquainted with all their ways, had gone back to put 
the pursuers upon their track, and guide them to that 
long undisturbed sanctuary of refuge. 

The apprehension was shared by his fellow- 
patriots, the free lances ; and as soon as the search 
after their escaped prisoner had terminated in a fail- 
ure to recover him, they resolved upon redoubling 
their vigilance. Some talked of abandoning the old 
convent, that had for years furnished them with a 
secure shelter and a home ; counseling a change of 
quarters to the steep sides of Popocatepec, under the 
shadows of whose sombre forests, within some deep 
volcanic clefts, they might find a safer abiding place. 

“No, my brave friends,” said Rivas, in answer to 
these counsels of his comrades. “ Not till I’ve paid a 
visit to my own old home, down yonder among the 
maguey plants. Let it be this night, then. These 
brave strangers Have promised to accompany me, and 
be your fellow-guests. I’ve heard that my usurping 
tenant has a famous cook. If so, we shall have some 
chance of getting a good supper, and unless the major 
domo succeed in hiding the cellar keys we shall wash 
it down with something better than pulque.” 

To the scheme of robbery — or, as it might more 


A COUPLE OF RECRUITS. 


'307 


approptiately be styled, retribution — there was no dis- 
sentient voice — not even that of Florence Kearney. It 
was not that the young Irishman — gentleman by birth 
and the like by education — had become hardened to 
crime, or in any way indifferent to the principles of 
humanity and honor instilled into him from the time 
of leaving his cradle till that when he parted from the 
walls of his alma mater. No ; nothing of the kind. 
He now knew that he was not among robbers, but 
refugees — patriots such as in the history of his own 
nation had oft been compelled to take refuge on the 
side of the bleak, barren mountain, or seek shelter in 
some cold, cheerless cave, while ruffians in red coats 
were scouring the ravines and valleys around them 
like sleuth-hounds in search of their blood. 

And there was another motive, of itself sufficient 
to stir him to concerted action with his new associates 
— the strongest that can act upon the human heart — 
perhaps more than all other incentive to deeds either 
of daring or crime — oft even to murder. 

Florence Kearney did not nSean murder ; but he 
could not help thinking that if Carlos Santander 
ceased to exist there would be more safety for his own 
life, and the honor of Luisa Valverde. 


308 


' A COUPLE OF RECRUITS. 


With a thought like this on his mind, it is not 
strange he consented to be one of a band of house- 
breakers — ready for anything — even homicide — in case 
of their being resisted ! 


MOQNTED MEN ON THE MARCH. 


309 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

MOUNTED MEN ON THE MARCH. 

About the same hour that Captain Ruperto Rivas 
and his band of Free Lances* were scattering far and 
wide in search of their respective horses, a dark, 
moving line, denoting mounted men, might have been 
seen defiling through the garita of San Antonio de 
Abad, and taking the road towards San Augustin de 
las Cuevas. 

It was a half regiment of cavalry, consisting of two 
squadrons — one of lancers, the other hussars. The 
latter were armed with carbines, though in the great 
darkness of the night — for the moon was no longer 
visible — one must have been close to them as they 
passed along to have noted any distinction between 
the two kinds of cavalry. So dark was it that the 
lancers, with their bright pennons flouting the night 
breeze, could only be seen very indistinctly against the 
dead, leaden color of the sky, meeting the still more 


310 


MOUNTED MEN ON THE MARCH. 


sombre pine-clad background of the mountains on all 
sides encircling the valley. 

Though there were officers riding here and there 
along the line of the squadrons as they marched in 
half-sections of twos, after the fashion of the 
lighter French cavalry tactics, two at the head 
were conspicuous. These rode several paces in 
advance of the foremost files, conversing with each 
other. 

Close behind them, and a little to the left, was a 
third individual, or at all events, a horse with a shape 
on his back almost indescribable. It could scarce 
have been called a man, nor yet was it a woman. 
Still was it a living thing, as might be seen by an 
occasional gesture, 'and a pair of long arms stretched 
forth as if for the purpose of guiding the animal it 
bestrode. That to which it bore the nearest resem- 
blance was a monkey mounted on the back of a horse, 
as sometimes seen in the circus. When the cavalcade 
at length reached the hacienda of San Antonio, about 
five miles from Mexico, and torches brought out by 
the domestics of the establishment threw their glare 
upon the foremost files, it could be no longer doubtful 
what or who was this singular equestrian, for the light 


MOUNTED MEN ON THE MARCH. 311 

flashed upon the sinister features of the hunchback, 
Zorillo. And the same light showed the more hand- 
sorhe, though not much more amiable countenance of 
Don Carlos Santander, dt was he who rode at the 
head of the mounted force, the horseman by his side 
being the officer more immediately in command of it. 

There was a halt at San Antonio, but only long 
enough to enable these two officers to drink a cup of 
Catalan brandy and get a light for their cigars, both 
of which were brought out to them by one of the ser- 
vitors of the establishment, which, besides being a 
hacienda, or country house, was also a roadside 
hostelry for the entertaiment of man and horse. 

This done, the order was- given to forward, and 
the squadrons advanced in half sections as before. 

‘‘We shall have to dismount and do more than a 
mile of our marching on foot. So this devil’s imp 
tells me.” 

It was Santander who made this remark, which 
was addressed to the regimental commander ; the 
“devil’s imp ” being the dwarf Zorillo, who was acting 
as guide to the expedition. 

“I expected as much,” was the rejoinder of the 
officer 


312 


MOUNTED MEN ON THE MARCH. 


“These fellows don’t often make their lair where 
cavalry can get at them. However, I suppose there’s 
no help for it. If we must fight them dismounted we 
must, only if I’d known that, I should have advised 
our leaving these lances behind. They’ll only be in the 
way to the men acting afoot, and especially if it be 
among trees.” 

“ It doesn’t matter about that,” rejoined Santander. 
“We’re not likely to have much fighting, if any, and in 
darkness, too. We must manage to encompass the 
building and take them by surprise. As there doesn’t 
seem to be any probability that they have been 
warned about our coming, we ought to find them 
quite unprepared — perhaps snug asleep in their beds. 
We should get there about an hour before daybreak 
— just the time they’re likely to be in their soundest 
slumbers.” 

“ I’m not so sure about that,” dissented the officer, 
who, being an older soldier than Santander, seemed to 
have more knowledge of the subject about which they 
were conversing. “ That isn’t always the hour for 
their sort to be caught asleep. We might stand a 
much better chance of finding them in their soundest 
slumber an hour after daybreak.” 


MOUNTED MEN ON THE MARCH. 313 

“Yes; but then they would have their sentries 
out, and we should have less chance of approaching 
them without giving alarm. At all events we must 
endeavor to draw a cordon so as completely to enfilade 
the old ruins. In the darkness we may do this easily 
enough, and if we find that we’ve got them inside, we 
can then either storm the place or lay siege to it. I 
wouldn’t mind keeping up a month’s blockade to 
catch three of these jolly friars, as it appears they call 
themselves. His excellency, Don Antonio, has set his 
heart upon having them ; and if we succeed, you. 
Major Ramirez, may expect promotion as well as 
some reward. Therefore, by all means let us first 
surround them in the ruin. After that we must trust 
to the chances that turn up.” 

“ You are sure we shall be able to find the place ?” 
asked Ramirez, who, although a Mexican born — a 
native of the capital city itself — had never heard of the 
old convent in question. 

“We can have no difficulty in finding it,” was San- 
tander’s response. “This handsome image of his 
maker says he can take us to the spot without the 
slightest deviation from the straight track, only that 
we shall have some climbing of cliffs, and balancing 


314 


MOUNTED MEN ON THE MAKCH. 


along break-neck ledges. No matter. The reward 
may be worth all our pains and perils.” 

“ I hope so,” rejoined the hussar officer, who, being 
only a major, aspired to becoming a colonel, which, in 
the event of any new revolution, would give him 
greater power to pronotmce for whatever chief promised 
to pay the highest price for his services. 

Conversing after this fashion, and further maturing 
their plans as they rode along. Colonel Santander and 
Major Ramirez at length drew near to the town of 
San Augustin, the inhabitants of which all seemed to 
be asleep. There was no attempt made to awake 
them. On the contrary, the troops were not taken 
through the paved streets, but round by a road run- 
ning through the outskirts, making the detour in 
silence, so as not to disturb the slum_bering people. 
For among them might have been some that, if awak- 
ened, would themselves have taken to the road, and 
perhaps arrived at the old convent sooner than the 
expedition itself. 

For this reason every caution was observed while 
they were riding past the town, and it was only after 
they had got back upon the main road and well up 
among the mountains, that they again resumed the 


MOUNTED MEN ON THE MARCH. 


315 


“'double-quick “ march, the troops, by command of 
their major, breaking into a rapid trot, that soon 
carried them to the base of Ajusco. At a point in the 
road where it wound around the foot-hills of the 
forest-clad mountain, a bridle-path was discovered, 
which thenceforth was to be their line of march. It 
was so narrow that even the formations by half 
sections of twos could no longer be kept up ; and 
breaking into single file, the horsemen entered it one 
after another, each disappearing,, as he did so, under 
the shadows of the trees, until having left the main 
road, save by the tracks of their horses still remaining 
in the mud, there was nothing to show that an armed 
expedition had passed along it. 


316 


NOT AT HOME. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

NOT AT HOME. 

Still guided by the dwarf, the soldiers continued 
the ascent of the mountain. At that point where the 
path was no longer practicable for horses, they dis- 
mounted, and proceeded onwards afoot, here gliding 
along ledges, and there climbing up slopes that were 
almost precipitous. 

One by one had they to pass these obstructions ; 
and at several of them torches were required to 
show where the foot could be set with safety. It 
was near the hour of daybreak when the expedi- 
tion arrived near the ruin — ^just the time desired by 
Ramirez. 

Zorillo, during his brief sojourn among the merry 
monks, or rather before his involuntary introduction 
to them, had made himself well acquainted with the 
approaches to the place, and under his intelligent 
guidance the soldiers at length succeeded in com- 
pletely enfilading it. 


NOT AT HOME. 


317 


“ I think we have these fellows in the trap at 
last,” myttered Santander to Ramirez, when they 
had finished drawing the lines of circumvallation and 
posting the men at every practicable path. 

“ I don’t like this silence,” remarked the veteran 
officer of light horse, who, in his time, had seen a 
good deal of this sort of service. “ It’s strange 
that they should have had no pickets out. There 
doesn’t seem to be even a camp sentinel around the 
walls.” 

“ Not strange at all,” rejoined the staff colonel. . 
“ No doubt they feel secure in'the old convent, and no 
wonder, considering what it has cost us to reach it. 
They’re all'asleep — that’s evident — even to their dogs, 
if they have any. So much the better ; we’ll be able 
to capture them with less risk to ourselves ; and that’s 
something too, for these fellows would fight to the 
death, knowing what will be their fate, if taken. 
Every one of them will know that there is a rope 
ready for him.” 

“ Shall I pass round the word for the men to 
advance ?” asked the major. 

“ Not yet,” answered Santander. “ It may be safer 


318 


NOT AT HOME. 


to send some one a little nearer to reconnoitre — this 
ape, for instance.” • 

“True — it may,” assented the major. 

“ Here, Zorillo !” called the staff colonel, in a sub- 
dued voice. “Crawl up closer to the walls. Go 
inside, if you can, without being perceived. See what 
may be seen. Then come back here and report. 
Quick !” 

The dwarf, obedient to the order, advanced towards 
the ruin, half walking, half creeping. No one who 
might have seen his ungainly form, as he skulked ‘ in 
the obscurity, could have taken it for the figure of a 
human being. 

No one saw it, for there was no challenge of sentry 
or hail of any kind, as he passed through among the 
masses of ruin, and at length paused before the great 
gateway leading to the interior court-yard. 

He saw that the entrance was open. The massive 
wooden door was standing ajar, both folds of it ; and 
there was no light seen inside, either in the court-yard 
or shining through any of the windows. There was 
no voice, no sound, save a soft wafting of wings, and 
an occasional screech from the higher points of the 
dilapidated mason-work, and among the tall pines 


NOT AT HOME. 


319 


shadowing over it. But these were the voices of the 
owl and other nocturnal birds, in pursuit of their 
ordinary prey. There was not a breath to indicate 
the presence of a human being, sleeping or awake. 

After listening a few seconds to convince himself 
that there was no one on the watch, the dwarf glided 
in through the gateway, and into the grim court-yard 
Here again he heard only the hooting of the owls, and 
saw nothing but darkness. The cloister windows that 
faced inward upon the court were all dark, as also the 
doors, and the dwarf saw to his surprise that most of 
these were standing open or ajar. Had the patriot 
birds taken flight and abandoned their place of 
refuge ! It appeared so. 

After remaining some minutes within the shadow 
of the wall, Zorillo saw a faint light that came 
through a long corridor running through the back 
portion of the building. He knew that this led to the 
great dining hall or refectory of the convent. While 
a prisoner in one of the adjoining cloisters he had 
observed the Free Lances go into and out of it at the 
hours of meal time. 

Stealing along the wall he entered the corridor, 
and following it, soon found himself in the hall in 


320 


NOT AT HOME. 


question. A wax candle burnt down into the socket 
of a brass candlestick that held it, gave out the last 
flickering* flames of its light. By these he could dis- 
tinguish the debris strewed over the table — the 
remains of the servants’ supper — which he could see 
was but half consumed and must have been aban- 
doned in haste. 

Aroimd the room were other evidences of a hurried 
departure from the place — articles of various kinds 
that had been brought forth from the sleeping-rooms, 
but thrown down again from being too cumbrous to 
be carried away. 

While making these observations the candle flared 
up in its last expiring effort, and then suddenly went 
out, leaving him in utter darkness. Groping his way 
back through the corridor and across the deserted 
court-yard, he returned to Santander with his report, 
that the place was, or seemed to be, abandoned. 

And so it proved when the soldiers, advancing, 
took possession. They searched every cloister and 
ransacked the old monastery from cellar to ceiling 
without making captive of a single creature. But for 
the beds, that showed evidence of having been lately 
used, and some other paraphernalia — no great stock 


NOT AT HOME. 


321 


either — that proved recent occupation by the band of 
patriots, they might have believed that their guide had 
been deceiving them. Some suspicion of this crossed 
the mind of Santander, who, in the midst of his disap- 
pointment and chagrin, seemed all at once overtaken 
with a dread of betrayal. What if the misshapen 
wretch had been all along acting for Ruperto Rivas, 
and had led the troops up there to bring about their 
destruction ? What if their horses left below should 
be found missing upon their return, and an attack 
made upon the men, dismounted and dispirited, while 
going back down the difficult passes of the mountain? 

Zorillo was at once seized and questioned. He 
protested against any accusation of treason. The rob- 
ber band had been there. Was there not evidence of 
that? He could not account for their having gone 
away unless’ some one had become aware of the 
approach of the troops and hastened ahead to give 
them warning. 

The explanation was likely enough, and Santander 
had to be satisfied. But with the fear of an ambus- 
cade still upon him, he lost no time among the ruins, 
but hastened back down the mountain to the place 
where the horses had been left. 


322 


NOT AT HOME. 


These were found undisturbed. The men left in 
charge had neither seen or heard aught of an enemy. 

Nor was any encountered in the mountain passes 
leading down to the main road. Along this, at early 
break of day, the squadrons returned, the major and 
Santander, as before, riding at their head — the former 
disappointed at having accomplished nothing that 
would give him promotion — the latter deeply cha- 
grined at the failure of his plans and prospects of 
revenge. 


A DELICATE DUTY. 


323 


CHAPTER XLV. 

A DELICATE DUTY. 

The usually quiet village of San Augustin de las 
Cuevas was enlivened by a division of cavalry, lancers 
and hussars. It was on the day succeeding that night 
on which Don Carlos Santander had made his bootless 
expedition up the sloping side of Ajusco, and it was 
the same cavalry with which he had made it. They 
were only halted in San Augustin to rest and recruit 
themselves and their horses from their fatiguing 
march up the mountains , also to obtain some sleep in 
lieu of that they had lost on the preceding night. 

It was now in the afternoon of the next day, and 
the soldiers, having enjoyed a good, long siesta^ were 
once more making appearance on the streets, hussars 
and lancers alike bent upon being merry. They were 
strolling along in twos and threes, here stopping to 
talk and drink at the dram shops in which San Augus- 
tin abounds, there to exchange jests — some of them 


324 


A DELICATE DDTY. 


not over nice — with the dark-eyed damsels of 
Tlalpam. 

It was still a little later in the afternoon when half 
a dozen notes from a cavalry bugle were heard near 
the lower end of the town, and some distance outside 
of it. It denoted the approach of a party, and pres- 
ently this appeared in the shape of a band of horse- 
men coming along the road from the direction of the 
city. . 

It was a small troop of about twenty files, under 
a brace of subalterns, apparently only the escort of 
an officer of higher rank, who was seen riding at its 
head. The dust upon his uniform, with the sweat and 
froth upon the skin and trappings of his horse, told 
that he must have ridden all the way from the city, if 
not farther. 

And he had ridden farther : for it was the Colonel 
Santander who not only the night before, but nearly 
all that day, had been in the saddle. After returning 
from his unsuccessful excursion to the old convent 
he had since been to the City of Mexico, on an errand 
of primary importance. 

What this was will presently appear. 

The old town, San Augustin, is a corporation. 


A DELICATE DUTY. 


325 


having its alcaide and other magistrates. It has also 
a small “ Cabildo,” or common-council house, stand- 
ing at the upper end of its plaza or public square. In 
this the officers of the cavalry division had their tem- 
porary quarters. 

Santander only stopped for a second or two to 
address some communication to the major com- 
manding, and then passed on up the street, and 
out again into the country along the road leading 
in the direction of Xochemilco. The same escort 
that had accompanied him to the city still attended 
him. 

About a quarter of a mile beyond the outskirts of 
the town he and his men made halt in front of a hand- 
some house, which every one knew to be the country 
residence of Don Ignacio Valverde. Here they dis- 
mounted, Santander himself stepping forward to the 
front gate, which was closed. On reaching it he made 
the usual demand for admission. A man inside, who 
was Jos6, the coachman, put the never-varying inter- 
rogatory in such cases : 

“ Quien es (Who is it ?) 

“ Colonel Santander,” was the response. 


326 


A DELICATE DUTY. 


And the great door was drawn open upon its heavy- 
iron hinges. 

“ Is Don Ignacio at home ?” he asked, stepping 
inside the saguan. 

“ No, Senor ; he has gone to Chaleo ; and is not 
expected home to-night.” 

Instead of disappointment, a gleam of satisfaction 
shot from Santander’s dark eyes as he received this 
information. 

“ The Senorita Luisa ?” 

“ She is at home, Sefior, and the Senorita Almonte.” 

“ So much the better,” muttered Santander to him- 
self. “ I have some business with both,” he added, in 
a louder tone, to the door-opener. “ Give my name 
to the ladies, and say that I wish to see them.” 

Jose was about turning to take in the message, 
when he saw that it was not necessary. The young 
ladies were themselves within earshot, standing by 
the fountain basin in the middle of the flagged court- 
yard. They had heard the request, which sounded 
more like a demand ; but notwithstanding its harsh 
tone they advanced to receive their visitor. 

Luisa, as the mistress of the house, stepped for- 
ward, Ysabel keeping a little behind, Neither could 


A DELICATE DUTY. 


327 


conceal a certain ruffling which their proud spirits had 
felt at the imperious manner of the man who thus im- 
pudently intruded himself. 

“You wish to see my father, Colonel Santander?” 
was the interrogatory with which Luisa met him. 

“No,” he said, with a look in which spite and 
triumph seemed equally blended — “no, Senorita, it is 
not with your father my business lies. It is with 
yourself.” 

“ I thought you had business with both of us ?” 
here broke in Ysabel. “ I heard you say so just now.” 

“ And so I have, Senorita Almonte ; very serious 
business with both of you.” 

“ Indeed ! What may it be. Colonel Santander?” 

Santander appeared to hesitate about declaring it, 
or perhaps he was getting his thoughts into shape. 

“ Let us know, quick ?” cried the impetuous mixed- 
blood. “ If the news be so serious we can’t be told 
it too soon. So out with it at once.” 

With all her bravado Ysabel was uneasy about 
what was to be the revelation. And much more her 
cousin, whose apprehensions pointed to something 
connected with the escape of the prisoners. 

“ Ladies,” said Santander at length, determined on 


A DELICATE DUTY. 


328 

bringing the awkward conversation to an end, “ I 
regret to inform you t!iat I present myself in the 
performance of an unpleasant duty — a very unpleasant 
duty — ” 

He again hesitated, on pretence that the announce- 
ment was paining him, 

‘‘ Pray go on, sir!” cried Ysabel ; and don’t also 
make it unpleasant by keeping us in suspense.” 

Although still keeping up her defiant tone the 
young girl turned pale, as had also Luisa Valverde. 
Both visibl}^ trembled, and Santander could perceive 
it. It gave him pain as well ; for in it he saw addi- 
tional evidence of their complicity in the ecsape of the 
Acordada prisoners, the chief clew to which had been 
given to him by Zorillo. And this bitter thought 
found but poor compensation in the scheme of revenge 
he was now preparing to accomplish. Stung by the last 
speech he no longer delayed making known the object 
of his visit. 

“ Ladies,” he said, still keeping up the pretence of 
sympathetic politeness, “ I regret — deeply regret the 
nature of my errand. I am but an instrument, as you 
both know, and m.ust carry out the commands in- 
trusted to me. However repugnant to my feelings. 


A DELICATE DUTY. 


329 


there is no alternative. I am the bearer of this decree, 
with strict orders to execute it. You perceive that it 
bears the signature and seal of his excellency, the 
President.” 

“We see all that,” sharply spoke Ysabel. “But 
what is it about ?” 

“ Senorita, I am sad to tell you it is a warrant for 
your arrest — both of you.” 

“Our arrest !” exclaimed Luisa in a surprise, that 
was more feigned than felt. “ On what accusation. 
Colonel Santander?” 

“I cannot tell. The document specifies no reasons 
for this very strange proceeding, as I may be permitted 
to call it. It only commands me to make you my pris- 
oners and take you to the National Palace. Read for 
yourselves.” 

Ysabel half plucked the sheet of stamped paper 
out of Santander’s hands, and for a moment stood 
silent while she ran her eye over the writing upon it. 
It was a mere dry, dictatorial decree contained in a 
few brief words, directing the bearer to possess himself 
of the persons of Luisa Valverde and Ysabel Almonte, 
and bring them before the alcalde mayor of the City 
of Mexico. 


330 


A DELICATE DUTY. 


Ysabel communicated the contents to her cousin, 
who had already conjectured them. 

In truth, neither of the two were at all surprised at 
the decree, however much they pretended it, and how- 
ever strange it might otherwise have appeared to 
them. Since the night before, when Jose, returning 
home, had told them of what he had heard pass 
between Santander and the dwarf, they had more than 
half expected such a consummation. It had now 
come, and there could be no help for it. 

“We are your prisoners, then, I suppose?” said 
Luisa. 

“ I regret having to use the word,” rejoined San- 
tander, with a hypocritical smile. “ It is very pain- 
ful.” 

“ Of course we cannot blame you, sir,” retorted the 
Senorita Valverde, with a sneer of resignation. “As 
you say, you are but doing your duty. When, may I 
ask, are we to be taken to the city ?” 

“ When it pleases jw/, Senorita,” was the reply. 
“ But to avoid a public exhibition, which, no doubt, 
would be painful to you, I suggest that it be at a later 
hour— say after nightfall. It will be all the same to 


me. 


A DELICATE DUTY. 


331 


“It is all the same to us — but after night be it, 
Senor. I presume you have no objection to our now 
retiring, so that we may prepare ourselves for our 
prison ?” 

“Oh, certainly not,” returned Santander. 

“Thank you,” was the curt reply ; and with a cold 
courtesy to the officer, and a sign to her cousin to fol- 
low her, Luisa Valverde walked off towards her own 
chamber, the door of which soon after closed upon 
them, leaving Santander alone in the court-yard. 


332 


THE INTEKKUPTED CAROUSAL. 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

THE INTERRUPTED CAROUSAL. 

When the ladies vvere fairly out of sight, and the 
door shut after them, Santander called in one of the 
lieutenants of his escort, and ordered him to station 
sentinels around the house. 

This was soon done, but not soon enough to pre- 
vent the passing out of one who had overheard the 
whole conversation as above reported. This was Jose, 
the coachman, who, while the sentries were being set, 
might have been seen stealing but through the shrub- 
bery that surrounded the dwelling, and afterwards 
making his way towards the mountains that rose up 
in its rear. 

Jose was having a hard time of it. 

On the night before, he had ridden a distance of 
over twenty miles, besides scaling the rugged slopes of 
Ajusco to the old ruins, and thence back to the road, 
where he had left his horse. After that he had gal- 
loped on to the hacieftda of El Villa, arriving just in 


THE INTERRUPTED CAROUSAL. 


333 


time to take part in the bit of house-breaking done by- 
Don Ruperto and his band, and to drink with them a 
cup of wine drawn from Don Ruperto’s own bins, 
though not of his own buying. 

He had warned the Free Lances of the expedition 
intended, and, of course, determined them on not 
returning- to their old quarters in the convent. It 
would no longer be a safe asylum, and they had re- 
solved to abandon it forever. But before dismissing 
their friendly messenger, Jose, they had given him a 
clew by which he might afterwards find them ; and it 
was the thread of this he was unwinding as he stole 
through the shrubbery surrounding Don Ignacio’s 
dwelling, and set his face towards the Sierra. 

Without any communication with his young mis- 
tress, for he had no opportunity, the intelligent 
coachero had conceived a plan that promised results 
beneficial to her and her cousin, as they might be dis- 
astrous to Santander. 

He saw that the latter had only a small body of 
men acting as his escort, and although there was a 
whole division of cavalry in the village, there seemed 
to be no communication between them and the escort 
party, and might not be for the rest of the day. He 


334 


THE INTERRUPTED CAROUSAL. 


had heard Santander give the promise of not starting 
before night. There might still be time to prevent his 
starting at all. So reasoned Jose. 

On getting out of the grounds and well away from 
the house, he turned again into the road running along 
the edge of the lake Xochemilco, and leading to the 
village of this name-. 

It is but a poor country road, barely practicable 
for wheels, but Don Ignacio’s coachman did not keep 
long upon it. At a quarter of a mile’s distance from 
the house, he left it, turning sharply off to the right, 
along a still narrower road — a mere path, in fact — 
running up a ravine, and which led in a cross or diag- 
onal direction to the main Acapulco road, higher up 
among the mountains. 

Hut he was not making to reach this last. When 
he had followed the ravine path for about a quarter of 
a mile, he turned into another ravine — a lateral one — 
down which there dashed a swift mountain stream, its 
banks heavily timbered with a variety of evergreen 
trees — the dark cypress predominating. Up this there 
was no path ; but the eye could detect numerous 
horse- tracks that seemed to have been freshly made — 


THE INTEKRUPTED CAROUSAL. 


335 


though ill the hard, stony soil so slightly indented as 
to require the sharp glance of a professional trailer. 

Jose’s early training as a mountaineer served him 
in this crisis, and he did not need to waste much time 
in taking up the tracks. He did not even regard 
them. Wherever he was going, it was evident he went 
independent of their guidance. 

And yet he was not going altogether alone. 
Though unseen by the sentries whom Santander had 
set around the house, he had not got off unobserved. 
As he passed out through the grounds, a pair of sharp 
eyes were upon him. They were those of a creature 
skulking under the shadow of some trees, whose form 
might have been mistaken for a stump, or a conglom- 
eration of shapeless branches. It was the hunchback 
Zorillo, who, ever since his first proffer of service, had 
been keeping close to his patron, Santander, and was. 
with the escort who accompanied the latter to Don 
Ignacio’s dwelling. 

Seeing Jose steal off, and knowing as he did all 
along, the part that Don Ignacio’s coachman had been 
playing, the dwarf uncoiled himself from his crouch- 
ing attitude and started after. It was an instinct that 
directed him. The movements of the domestic had 


336 


THE interruptp:d carousal. 


something suspicious in them, and by following him 
Zorillo conjectured that he might make some new 
discovery that would be still further beneficial to his 
own interest. 

Along the Xochemilco road he skulked, keeping 
the coachman in view, now crouching among the 
bushes, now scuttling forward in a half erect attitude, 
*never direct, but in zigzag shoots from tree to rock, or 
from angle to angle of the road. 

The man he was dogging, himself keenly intent on 
what was before, never once thought of looking be- 
hind him, and this gave the dwarf an opportunity to 
keep within sight of him without being observed him- 
self. Jose, however, as soon as he had got beyond 
eye-shot of the soldiers around the house, increased 
his pace to a quick run, and in this way entered the 
side-path leading up the ravine. 

On reaching its mouth the dwarf saw that he 
was distanced. The coachman was out of sight ; 
and at the pace at which he had been going, it was 
not likely he could be overtaken. But the topog- 
raphy of the mountain, known to Zorillo, told him 
that Jose must return by the same path to get back to 
Don Ignacio’s dwelling ; and reflecting upon this, the 


THE INTERRUPTED CAROUSAL. 


337 


dwarf suspended the pursuit, intending to wait for his 
return. Stepping a little to one side, and choosing a 
spot under a ledge of rock with some bushes in front 
of it, he squatted down like a toad, took out a cigar- 
rita, ignited it, and commenced smoking — evidently 
determined to sit it out. 

Meanwhile Jose was making his way up the lat- 
eral ravine under the shadow of the overarching trees, 
from the branches of which hung a festoonery of par- 
asitical plants, giving a weird, wild aspect to every- 
thing around. 

The farther he advanced up this mountain val- 
ley, the more shadowy it seemed, and the more 
lugubrious the sounds that fell upon his ear. The 
torrent, tumbling along its rocky bed, seemed like 
the constant groaning of spirits in pain, now and 
then giving voice to some increased agony in the 
screech of the great Mexican owl, or the sharp cry of 
the white-headed eagle, the last resembling the laugh- 
ter of madmen. 

As he advanced, however, other voices began to . 
be heard, also in laughter, but more in the tones 
of human hilarity ; and a little farther on he came 


338 


THE INTERRUPTED CAROUSAL. 


in sight of the men who were making this merri- 
ment. 

In an open spot, partly shadowed with trees and 
partly cliffs that rose hundreds of feet overhead, a 
company was assembled. 

There were in all about fifty of them, grouped 
over the ground, some seated upon rocks or fallen 
logs, others standing up, and still others bending over 
fires — apparently engaged in culinary operations. 

A like number of horses, saddled and bridled, stood 
tied' to the trees, whose sweating flanks and dusty 
caparison showed them to be resting after a march or 
a journey. Besides the horses, there were several 
pack-mules, upon whose backs could still be seen 
marks of the pack-saddles ; while on the ground lay 
the cargoes they had carried. 

These resembled no cases of regular merchandise, 
but packages of variously assorted articles, wrapped 
up in serapes, and, as if hastil}" corded, the protruding 
ends of some of the pieces proving them to be house- 
hold goods of a valuable description. Here peeped 
out the branch of a silver candelabrum, there some 
other shining object that had adorned a dining or 
drawing-room. 


THE INTERRUPTED CAROUSAL. 


339 


The domestic of Don Ignacio Valverde, silently 
making approach, saw these things without surprise. 
He knew whence they had come, and who they were 
that now held them in possession. It was the bivouac 
of Ruperto Rivas and his band, who were here resting 
after that nocturnal raid in which he had harried his 
own home. 

Just at the moment when Jose was stopped by a 
sentry, within sight of their camping places, the Free 
Lances were in the midst of a carousal. It was a 
scene af grand enjoyment. A sheep, brought away 
from the hacienda, with half a score of turkeys, and as 
many fat pullets, had already distributed their savory 
odors through the glen ; and carved by the machetes 
of the men, were in process of being masticated. A 
skin of pulque, with a basket of wine, the bottles of 
which were out and set standing over the ground, 
attested that Santander’s cellar had not escaped their 
attention any more than his poultry pens. 

Rivas was, of course, master of this Homeric feast, 
and in high spirits was he performing the duties of 
host. 

‘‘ Come, gentlemen !” he said, laying hold of one 
of the wine bottles and breaking off its neck with the 


340 


THE INTERRUPTED CAROUSAL. 


butt of his pistol. “ Let us toast our new comrades, 
the Texans. I take it we drink them in good wine ; 
for there was never any bad in the cellar from which it 
came — at least when I had the stocking of it. I hope 
my tenant, the Senor Santander, has not allowed it to 
lose character. So fill up and let us drink, ‘ Los 
Tejanos y Libertad !’ ” 

‘‘The Texans and Liberty !” vociferated the Free 
Lances, each clutching his cup and filling it from the 
nearest bottle. 

Kearney was called upon to respond, which he did 
in a neat speech ; and then a demand was made upon 
Cris Rock, whose gigantic size and odd, eccentric ways 
had already rendered him an object of great interest 
to every one of his new associates. 

“ I ain’t much o’ a speechifier,” said he, “but as 
yo’ve drunk Texan an’ Liberty, I’m boun’ to say some- 
thin’. So I gie ye in return, ‘ Mexiko unner a free form 
o’ government, and death to her cork-legged tyrant !” 

“ Death to him ! Death to Santa Anna !” rang out 
on all sides, till the rocks reverberated only the 
echoes of “death ! death !” 

A handsome young fellow named Miranda — a sort 


THE INTERRUPTED CAROUSAL. 


341 


of lieutenant of that band — as if to introduce a more 
cheerful theme, next gave the toast : 

“Sweethearts and wives !” 

At which each of the Free Lances, according to 
their usual custom, called out the name of her he held 
dearest. 

“ Ysable Almonte,” came from Ruperto Rivas ; and 
Kearney, as if catching the cue from him, cried out : 

“ Luisa Valverde i” 

The words had scarce passed their lips when the 
sentry stepped upon the ground, accompanied by Don 
Ignacio’s coachman. Of course, all knew him well," 
and Rivas, suspecting that he bore some important 
tidings^ stepped briskly out to receive him. 

“What is it?” he inquired, in an undertone; “do 
you bring us some news, Jose ?” 

“ I do, Don Ruperto. The two ladies whose names 
I have just heard are in danger.” 

“In danger !” 

“ Great danger, Senor. They are prisoners in their 
own house, with Colonel Santander and his dragoons 
keeping guard over them. In less than an hour from 
now they will be on their way to the city — to the pal- 
ace, I heard him tell them, for examination on some 


342 


THE INTERRUPTED CAROUSAL. 


charge, and it may be for punishment. Sefior, no 
doubt, may guess what it is.’' 

“Step this way, Don Florencio,” said Rivas, ad- 
dressing himself to Kearney. “ Some news that con- 
cerns you as well as myself. Comrades !” he cried to 
the others ; “ quaff off your cups, and look to your 
arms and horses. We may have a quick march and 
some sharp fighting to do before midnight.” 

Tossing his own cup to the ground, he turned aside, 
and for some moments held converse with the coach- 
man, Kearney taking part in it. It ended in Don Ig- 
nacio’s domestic receiving a note, hastily written upon 
the table-top of a pack-saddle, and with this he has- 
tened back as he had come. 

The carousal at once came to an end, and in less 
than ten minutes after there might have been seen de- 
defiling down the valley a troop of fifty horsemen, no 
longer encumbered with spoils or delayed by pack- 
animals, but lightly pricking their steeds, ready for 
either charge or encounter. 


A DULL AFTERNOON. 


343 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

A DULL AFTERNOON. 

Carlos Santander had spent many an afternoon in 
the country house of Don Ignacio Valverde, but never 
one that seemed so dull to him. He could not help 
knowing that he was an unwelcome guest ; and in 
another short interview had with him, the ladies had 
made no effort to conceal from him the chagrin his 
presence caused them. He kept up his pretence of 
courtesy, and availing themselves of it they kept close 
to their room, there to await the hour when it should 
please him to transfer them to their prison in the 
city. He had signified his consent that they should 
ride in their own carriage, jocularly adding that he 
presumed he would not have to put any other brace- 
lets on their wrists than those they already wore. 
This remark was made in a way that caused them to 
exchange glances of sigrtificance. There were no 
bracelets on their wrists, These had gone into the 


344 


A DULL AFTERNOON. 


hands of the hunchback, whom they had seen in the 
company of Santander’s escort as they halted in front 
of the house. Had the dwarf told the story of their 
despoilment, making confession of the part he had 
himself played in it? It seemed almost certain that 
he had, or, at all events, that Santander had in some 
way discovered it. The thought was a fresh source of 
chagrin. 

Soon after being arrested, the Senorita Valverde 
had asked permission to send a messenger to her 
father, and the further favor that they might be per- 
mitted to stay at the house till his return. 

The first request was refused as politely as possi- 
ble, on the plea that he — Santander — had orders not 
to allow any communication with them until they 
should appear before their accusers. 

The truth was that a party of soldiers had been 
already dispatched to arrest Don Ignacio himself. 

After making this request Luisa turned with re- 
signed dignity and re-entered her own chamber, the 
door of which, as in all Mexican houses, communicated 
directly with the court-yard, only the piazza running 
between them. There Ysdbel had already preceded 


A DULL AFTERNOON. 


315 


her, with the maid, Pepita, apparently as much 
affected as if she, too, was being made a prisoner. 

Santander could not force them to keep his com- 
pany, unless by behaving as a brigand, and he was 
therefore compelled to pass the time without them. 
And he must have felt very much as a brigand quar- 
tered in a mansion whose mistress he had made cap- 
tive. 

As he paced the court-yard, smoking his cigar, his 
thoughts were bitter enough. The cherished dream 
of years seemed to be departing from him. For years 
he had loved Luisa Valverde, and hoped that his love 
would be returned. Never until the night before had 
he despaired of it, for he believed that if she had ever 
felt any affection for her father’s pupil it must have 
long ago died out, and that the pitiful plight in which 
the latter had been seen by her would give the final 
touch to extinguishing any lingering affection for him. 
But the revelations of the dwarf had revived all his 
past suspicions, turning them into certainties. Zorillo 
had told him all — how the weapons and implements 
had been found in the carriage, proving connivance at 
the escape ; and still further had he confessed all 


346 


A DULL AFTEKNOON. 


about his receiving the watches and jewelry, and the 
purpose for which they had been given him. 

There could be no mistaking the sentiment that 
inspired such acts as these ; and Santander’s jealousy 
was now excited to the highest pitch of spite, while 
his hopes had gone down to the profoundest depths 
of despair. 

And yet he endeavored to resuscitate a hope. 
Notwithstanding all that had passed, might there not 
be some misunderstanding ? The escape of the pris- 
oners might have been conceived, planned and ex- 
ecuted by Ysabel Almonte, and more on account of 
Ruperto Rivas than his prison companion. 

Santander had heard of the early attachment 
between this young lady and the reputed robber. He 
knew also that she was a girl of exceptional character 
— that she possessed a spirit of independence, original 
and daring even to recklessness. More than once he 
had himself had a touch of her temper, during his 
visits to the house of Don Ignacio, where she had been 
for some time staying. Was it that spirit had set the 
prisoners free ? And was Luisa Valverde only an 
accomplice, not caring very much about the matter? 
Or, perhaps, only acting from a feeling of friendship, 


A DULL AFTERNOON. 


347 


humanity, or for the sake of old acquaintance ? It 
was a straw to clutch at ; and as a drowning man, 
Santander eagerly seized upon it. Proud of his per- 
sonal appearance — and with some reason — steeped in 
vanity to the lips, it still partially supported him. 

Soon, however,, this slight fabric would sink 
beneath him, and his spirit would be again plunged 
into depths of bitter despondency, and with renewed 
spite would he dwell upon the programme he had now 
traced out. 

He was going to have Don Ignacio once more 
stripped of his honors and estates — once more brought 
down to the lowest point of humiliation, and so at his 
(Santander’s) mercy — his daughter along with him. 

The conference he had that day held with the Dic- 
tator gave him hope of this ; for Santa Anna, equally 
w-ith himself, and for somewhat similar reasons, was 
maddened by the disclosures which the hunchback 
had made. 

Amidst Santander’s bitter thoughts there were the 
sweet reflections of revenge, as a streak of silver 
lining to the cloud of his black chagrin, though it was 
more like the fierce gleam of lightning that shoots 
athwart the storm-threatening sky 


348 


A DULL AFfERNOON. 


With folded arms he paced the court-yard alone, 
not even entering into converse with the officers of his 
escort. Now and then a groan escaped him, as he 
inhaled the smoke of his cigar, while ever and anon 
his eyes sought the door of the chamber that con- 
tained the object of all his solicitude, now regarding it 
with the fierce glare of the jaguar, and now with a sub- 
dued expression, as if hope was once more rekindled 
in his breast. 


WITHIN THE CHAMBER. 


349 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

WITHIN THE CHAMBER. 

Again inside their own room, with the door close 
shut, the two young girls took counsel together. 

They could have no misconception about the cause 
of their arrest and the charges that would be brought 
against them. Clearly it was for their act in assisting 
the escape of Ruperto Rivas and the Texan prisoners. 
Nor were they unconscious of the seriousness of the 
offence they had committed, and the situation into 
which it had led them. 

Of the two, Luisa Valverde was the most alarmed. 
Not so much on her own account as her father’s, 
whose position would now be compromised. She 
kne\^ she had done what would cause great displeas- 
ure to the Dictator for more reasons than one, and it 
would be certain to fall upon her father’s head as well 
as upon her own. Don Ignacio would again be dis- 
graced from his high position — in all likelihood once 
more banished from the land. 


350 


WITHIN THE CHAMBER. 


-And for herself — what would be the punishment 
inflicted ? She could not tell — she could not even 
conjecture it ; she could only surmise something 
serious — something terrible. She felt so crushed that 
for a time after entering her chamber she had only 
wept and pra)^ed. Her cousin had done the same, 
though with less violent emotions, for she had never 
suffered the pains and penalties of exile. Besides, the 
spirit of Ysabel Almonte was one that did not easily 
succumb. It would have been a very great misfortune 
that could have brought it down to the point of actual 
despair. 

She was the first to recuperate and commence an 
examination into the circumstances that surrounded 
them, so that they might better comprehend their 
situation and its dangers. 

‘Ht is clear they must have discovered all about it,” 
she said, after a time spent in reflecting. “ I suppose 
they must have found the tools we put into the car- 
riage. Jose would not betray us.” 

“ Oh, never, Senorita. It was not Jose. I’m sure 
he would not do it.” 

This speech came from Pepita, who had been per- 


WITHIN THE CHAMBER. 


851 


mitted to accompany them to their chamber for the 
purpose of attending upon them. 

“ No ; I do not suspect him, Pepita^ I know your 
Jose is incapable of such treachery.” 

“ He is, Sehorita — he is. He would lay down his 
life for the Doha Luisa or her father. I think I know* 
how they have learnt everything.” 

“ How, Pepita ?” 

“ Through that ugly imp who was chained along 
with them. You know Jose heard him tell Don Carlos 
where they had gone to in the mountains, and it’s 
likely he has told him, too, about how they man- 
aged to get away. The villain dwarf must have 
seen the hammer and chisel, and couldn’t help know- 
ing that they had been put into the carriage. 
Besides, didn’t you give him up your things ? That 
would tell him all. He’s now here along with the 
soldiers. I saw him before Don Carlos came in- 
side. Yes, Seiioritas, that’s the thing that has done 
it.” 

“ ’Tis true,” said Ysabel. “And that repulsive lit- 
tle wretch will be the witness they wiU have against 
us. Ugh ! isn’t it awful to think of it !” 

Luisa also shuddered as she thought of it. What- 


352 


WITHIN THE CHAMBER. 


ever was to be the accusation against them, they could 
not escape from the proofs of it. The testimony 
would be conclusive. 

It did not occur to Luisa to think of an attempt at 
escaping in any other way, though it did to her more 
daring cousin. Ysabel glanced at the window, then 
rose from her seat, walked toward it, and looked out- 
side. 

“He has placed sentries all around the house. I 
can see them,” she said. “What a careful strategist 
he must be thus to suspect us poor.things of making 
an attempt to get away from him and his soldiers ! 
Aye, and I would do it, Luisita, if I saw the chance ; 
run right into the fields, and take to the mountains. 
Oh ! if I only knew how to get a message to Ruperto. 
Santissima ! I never thought of that.” 

“ But could you think of it now !” asked Luisa, in 
surprise. 

“ I could, can, and do. Reflect, Luisa, on what our 
situation really is. We are priso.ners, and may expect 
some humiliating punishment — social disgrace for cer- 
tain. That cannot be worse by anything we may now 
do. If I could reach Ruperto in the mountains, I 


WITHIN THE CHAMBER. 


353 


would go willingly. Wouldn’t you ? Remember, Don 
Florencio is along with him.” 

Luisa made no reply, but it was evident the words 
had weight with her. 

“ If Ruperto only knew how we are situated ! I’m 
sure his band numbers as many men as there are here 
— at all events, they’d be more than a match for these 
laced leperos. If we only had a bird that could fly 
and tell Ruperto !” 

Excited by the thought the fiery creature strode 
backward and forward across the room like a beauti- 
ful tigress chafing in her cage. All at once she 
stopped before her cousin, as if a thought had oc- 
curred to her. 

“ Why shouldn’t we send Jose ? He knows where 
they are. He might still be in time.” 

“ But how are we to send him ?” asked Luisa, sud- 
denly inclining to the suggestion. “He wouldn’t be 
allowed to come in here. How can we communicate 
with him ?” 

“ Surely they will not hinder Pepita from going 
out. She could tell him what we want. Jose is intel- 
ligent, and would know what to do. Luisita, let us 
try. I’d rather live in a cave in the mountains, starve 


354 


AVITHIN THE CHAMBER. 


in it, than be a prisoner in the palace of Don Antonio 
Lopez de Santa Anna, at the mercy of that tyrant and 
his tool, as we both shall be.” 

There was a double meaning in these words which 
Luisa Valverde could well understand. She remem- 
bered something that made their comprehension easy 
to her ; and she shuddered at the recollection. 

“I, too,” she assented, while the tone in which she 
spoke told how her thoughts coincided with those of 
her cousin. 

“Then let us do it. At all events let us try.” 

There was no opposition on the part of Luisa. On 
the contrary, she entered into Ysabel’s scheme with an 
energy equal to that of its projector. 

A few hurried instructions were whispered to Pep- 
ita, and she was dispatched to communicate them to 
Jose. 

The girl was permitted to pass out without any 
obstruction, though she was questioned as to her 
errand. She was going to the cocuia to fetch some 
refreshments. The young ladies stood in need of 
something to eat before starting on their compulsory 
journey. 

The excuse was natural enough. It would have 


WITHIN THE CHAMBER. 


355 


been very ungallant to refuse such a request, above 
all on the part of a man who had talked so much 
about the disagreeableness of the duty he was called 
upon to perform. 

Pepita passed on without further interrogation. 

With a keen anxiety the young ladies awaited her 
return. 

She came back at length bearing a tray, upon 
which were arranged various viands intended for their 
refection. 

They commenced eating, as they did so addressing 
side speeches to their waitress. 

“ Have you seen Jose ?” was the whispered ques- 
tion. 

“Yes.” 

“ And given him our message ?” 

“ No — it was too late.” 

The countenance of both fell on receiving this 
answer. 

“ Too late ? For what reason ?” asked Pepita’s 
mistress. , , 

“The reasons are written. If the Dona Luisita 
will unfold her napkin, she will find something inside 
it.” 


356 


WITHIN THE CHAMBER. 


With a glance to the window, and another towards 
the keyhole of the door, to see that no eye was peeping 
through it, the Doha Luisita did as her maid had 
whisperingly suggested. 

Out of the unfolded napkin fell a piece of folded 
paper, which itself being unfolded was seen to contain 
a writing that ran as follows : 

“ If the Sehoritas Luisa Valverde and Ysabel Al- 
monte sleep this night in a prison, then the Senores 
Don Florencio Kearney and Ruperto Rivas will also 
pass the night in a prison, or sleep upon the bed of 
death, with many brave comrades beside them. Fear 
not, noble ladies ; though we need not speak thus to 
those who have shown such a generous courage. We 
owe you for our lives, and this night we shall repay 
the debt by either giving them up or you your liberty. 
Take no step of yourselves. Leave all to us, to our 
comrades, and to God.” 

“ It is in the handwriting of my Ruperto !” 

“And the spirit of my Florencio !” 

“ O, Luisa, they will rescue us !” 

“ If the Virgin wills it, Ysa. Let us pray to her to 
help them !” ' 


AVITHIN THE CHAMBER. 


357 


The two beautiful creatures knelt down together in 
front of a picture of the Virgin, and hand in hand — 
their other hands placed upon their throbbing bosoms 
— offered up a united prayer in words almost the 
same. 

The Indian maiden, standing behind and waiting 
to give the responsive Amen, completed this charming 
tableau of adoration. 


358 


THE RESCUE. . 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

THE RESCUE, 

The golden god of day, for centuries and to this 
hour worshiped by the descendants of Moctezuma, was 
just bidding his daily adieu to the land long ago 
wrested from their fathers — the beautiful valley of 
Mexico. His last rays had forsaken the domes and 
turrets of what was once the ancient city of Tenochtit- 
lan, and only lingered in roseate tint upon the snowy 
cone of Popocatepec. Already the deep mountain 
ravines were in darkness, and the twilight, descending 
like a purple vail 'over the village of San Augustin de 
las Cuevas, invested also the country house of Don 
Ignacio Valverde with the same subdued light. 

There was a stillness in the air that seemed to ex- 
tend over all the broad valley, broken only by the 
distant lowing of kine, the hinneying of mules joyful 
at being relieved from their loads, or up in the air the 
Avhirtling of many wings as the wild fowl of lake 


THE, RESCUE. 


359 


Xochemilco disported themselves in their evening 
flight. 

In front of the residence above mentioned there 
was a tableau in the act of being formed that ill con- 
sorted with the peaceful character of the scene ; for it 
was a tableau in which soldiers were the principal 
figures. The escort of cavalry that had for some time 
held the place was getting ready to march. 

They had not yet mounted. Their horses, saddled 
and -bridled, were standing upon the. road in front, 
each trooper by the head of his own. 

The great gate forming the main entrance to the 
house stood open, showing upon the flagged court- 
yard inside a carriage with the horses attached, and 
the coachman seated upon his box. Near it stood a 
group of officers, one of them conspicuous by his 
splendid uniform, as also from being the superior in 
command. Their horses were held outside ; and they 
seemed to wait for some one who was to take a seat in 
the carriage. 

Their patience was nof to be long tried. A young 
girl-domestic, issuing from a side-door, came tripping 
across the pavement, and drawing the carriage-door, 
held it open in her hand. She was followed by two 


3G0 


THE EESCUE. 


ladies in sombre travelling-dress, both closely vailed, 
so as to hinder any observation of their faces. 

The officer in the showy uniform, and who was 
Colonel Carlos Santander, stepped forward, and with 
a bow, offered to hand them into the carriage. 

There was a slight courtesy in 'return, with just 
enough hauteur to show that his gallantry .was 
declined, when at that moment an incident occurred 
that changed tlie thoughts as well as the attitudes of 
every one about the place, both inside and without. 
It was the bell of San Augustin church, that, pealing 
clear upon the still evening, announced the Angeliis. 

No Mexican, good or bad, dares to disregard 
that summons, and even the cutthroat uncovers 
to it. This did the group of officers by the car- 
riage, and the driver on the box ; while the female 
servant who held open the door, and the vailed 
ladies about to step inside, made severally the sign 
of the cross. The troopers outside upon the road, 
dropped upon their knees, each by his own stirrup, 
as if the act was part of their manual for mounting. 
A few seconds passed, in which might have been 
heard the mutterings of “Ave-Maria’' and “Pater- 
noster,” and the'h everything was free to proceed as 


THE RESCUE. 


361 


before. But scarce any change had taken place 
in the tableau, beyond that of the ladies having 
stepped inside the carriage, and the door being shut 
upon them, when a second interruption occurred, 
altogether different in character from thp first. The 
first was the “ angel ” — the second had the semblance 
of the “ devil.” 

A creature scarce human in shape, long-armed like 
an ape, and apparently using its arms as much as its 
limbs for the purpose of progression, came scrambling 
through the open entrance, in breathless haste making 
way into the court-yard. 

All present recognized the hunchback, Zorillo ; for 
all of them, in one place or other, had seen this mon- 
strous shape before. He had no word for any one 
there except Santander, and to ' him his speech was 
addressed. * 

“ Don Carlos, you are betrayed ! And there’s the 
man who betrayed you — up there upon the carriage.” 
A slight scream was heard inside it. “ I suspected, 
and followed him up the glen. He went to give them 
warning.” 

“ Give who warning ?” 

“ Ruperto Rivas and his band.” 


362 


THE KESCUE. 


“ Drag the scoundrel down ! Out with him to the 
back yard, and send a bullet through his body !” 

“You have no time to waste upon him !“ screamed 
the dwarf. “ They are coming ! They are close at 
hand ! They are here ! Aye dios T 

His last words were not heard. The exclamation 
became blended with a volley of shots that at that in- 
stant rang along the walls of the hacienda, and came 
reverberating into the court-yard. 

The two lieutenants rushed together towards the 
gate, but before they could reach their horses outside 
they saw the escort of dragoons that awaited them — 
such as had not already fallen under the fire of the 
attacking party — spring to their saddles in double- 
quick time, and in treble-quick gallop off towards San 
Augustin. 

It was but the instinct of a last resort to retreat 
back into the court-yard and attempt to close the gate. 
But the huge door was too heavy to yield soon enough 
to their strength, and before its massive folds could be 
brought together they were seized and burst apart by 
the powerful arms of a man who seemed a giant, and 
Avho sprang into the court-yard, shouting out in a 
strange tongue : 


THE RESCUE. 


363 


“Surrender to Cris Rock and Texas !“ 

Behind him was a sea of scowling faces — in their 
midst distinguishable those of Rivas and Kearney. 

The officers of Santander’s escort seeing that re- 
sistance would only end in their being chopped into 
pieces, at once turned the hilts of their swords towards 
their assailants, eager to have them accepted. 

Santander stood irresolute and hesitating. It 
would be a terrible humiliation right under the eyes 
of her who sat in the carriage. But there seemed no 
alternative between it and instant death. And while 
he stood thus vacillating, even this chance came near 
escaping him, for Cris Rock, having his eyes upon him, 
and becoming excited, with the remembrance of all 
that had passed — his intended treachery in the redez- 
vous at New Orleans, his poltroonery in the duel at 
Portchartrain, his causing them to be sent into the 
sewers — for he now knew it was Santander who had so 
degraded them — all these thoughts crowding at once 
into the Texan’s soul, made him no longer master of 
himself ; and with the bound of a panther he sprang 
forward, long-bladed knife in hand, to cut to pieces the 
scoundrel he detested. 

But for the young Irishman Santander would at 


864 : 


THE RESCUE. 


that moment have ceased to exist, though Kearney 
himself did not intend he should live much longer. It 
was but the instinct of a gentleman, who could not 
see even a coward cut down without the chance of de- 
fending himself. 

As the Texan flung himself forward upon his 
almost unresisting antagonist, Kearney caught him by 
the arm and with a strength equalling his own swung 
him to one side. 

“Hold, Rock!" he cried, “and don’t make a 
butcher of yourself. This is an old quarrel of mine 
— not yours ; and I intend to settle it in my own 
way.” 

Rock, sullenly clamoring, stood for the moment 
aside. He still respected his captain too much to dis- 
obey him, even in his hours of anger. 

Now, Senor Santander,” said Kearney, facing 
square to his old antagonist, and assuming an attitude 
that told him what was intended, “ you and I have 
crossed swords before, under circumstances which I 
presume you remember. You wore a covering then 
that protected you ; and perhaps the habit still sticks 
to you, as his uncomfortable shirt did to Nessus. We 
shall be sure before proceeding. Sehor Ruperto 


THE RESCUE. 


365 


\ 

\ 

Rivas, will you have the goodness to unbutton that 
gentleman’s coat and see whether he has such a thing 
as a suit of chain armor beneath it ?” 

The captain of the Free Lances, already acquainted 
with the details of the New Orleans duel, stepped for- 
ward to obey, assisted by two of his followers. San- 
tander made no resistance. He knew that by doing 
so his life would not ba worth the tossing of a die. 
His coat was unbuttoned, and then his cassimere vest. 
Underneath these was only a shirt of finest cambric, 
and still closer to his skin an elastic undershirt of spun 
silk. The chain armor was not there. He had not 
been expecting an encounter that required it. 

“ Now, sir,” said Kearney, as soon as the inspec- 
tion was completed, “the last time I saw you was 
when I was toiling in the sewers of Mexico. You 
pointed me out to a young lady seated in her carriage, 
desiring, no doubt, to feast her eyes with a spectacle 
of humiliation. The same is now present, and again 
seated in her carriage. But it is my turn to provide 
the spectacle. You told her of our once crossing 
swords, Senor Santander, and, as I understand, you 
gave her a fine account of how you defeated me. As 
a vanquishea man you cannot, therefore, refuse me 


366 


THE RESCUE. 


the opportunity of a., revanche, and I demand another 
bout. Last time you declared for the duel a la mort. 

I now warn you, it is to the death. But one of us goes 
through that gate alive. Defend yourself !” 

As Kearney finished speaking he brought his 
sword to guard, and was advancing upon the Creole, 
who stood, not as a noble stag at bay, but a hind 
trembling in its last retreat.* He didn’t even attempt 
to raise his blade. 

At that moment a cry came from the carriage, fol- 
lowed by the words : 

“ O, Florencio, spare him ! He is not worthy of 
your vengeance, much less of your honorable sword. 
Do not risk your life — for even a coward may kill.” 

“There’s no risk to me,” said Kearney. “I feel it. 
I feel, too, that the fight with such an antagonist 
would be like killing him in cold blood. You may do 
what you like with hirn, Don Ruperto. He is more 
your prisoner than mine.” 

“We Free Lances have got a way of dealing with 
such poltroons,” rejoined Rivas. “ Villaint,” he 
added, turning to one of his followers, with a signifi- 
cant gesture, “have the goodness to remove this gen- 
tleman out of sight ?” 


THE KESCUE. 


367 



Villaint made a sign to several others, some of 
whom advancing, disarmed Santander and marched 
him out through the open gate. 

They were gone only a few moments, when the 
report of a pistol or carbine plainly told how he had 
been disposed of. 

“ That’s the way you Free Lances deal wi’ sech fel- 
lows, air it T* asked Cris Rock, putting the question to 
one by his side. “ Wal, the captin mout as well a let 
me done the thing when I war about it. I kud a made 
jest as good a job o’ it wi’ the knife.” 

“ Ladies !” said Ruperto Rivas, approaching the 
carriage and taking off his hat, “ I presume you will 
not object to a change in your escort, and may I hope 
you will not be offended if I suggest a change also in 
your destination. After what has passed, I am of 
opinion that a month or two in the mountains, if not a 
pleasanter, may be a safer residence for you than the 
City of Mexico ; and if you will consent for a time to 
share the home of a hunted patriot, we can promise 
you its hospitality, and I think we can also find a 
priest to sanction it.” 

Kearney spoke to support the proposal. 

The cousins exchanged glances, each reading assent 


868 


THE RESCUE. 


in the eye of the other. The thought of what would 
be their fate should they either stay there, or return to 
the capital, was sufficient to appall, as it was to decide 
them. The circumstances were strange — even extra- 
ordinary — but, after all, was it not their lovers who 
made this promise of protection ? 

Why should they refuse to accept it — especially as 
there was also promised a priest to give it the sanction 
of the church ? It was not an occasion for prudery, 
and neither permitted it to sway them. On the con- 
trary, both accepted the escort thus offered, and in ten 
minutes after the carriage containing them was whirl- 
ing — with Jose seated on the box and his sweetheart 
Pepita beside him — along the road towards Xochemilco, 
a few miles farther on to be exchanged for the saddle, 
their journey to be continued along a path where 
wheels had never made their mark. As they passed 
away from the house the Texan lingered behind. 

Kearney glanced back to see whether he was 
following. The road, to avoid a spit of rock, turned 
slightly to one side, bringing the rearward of the 
dwelling into view. There were some old olive trees 
standing behind it, and among their trunks he saw 
lying what appeared to be the dead body of a man. 


THE RESCUE. 


369 


It was now nearly dark, and darker under the shadow 
of the trees, but there was still light enough to show 
a gleaming of gold lace, and that sparkle of bright 
buttons that told the body to be dressed in the uniform 
of an officer. He did not need to question any one. 
From what he had learned while inside, and what he 
now saw, he knew that it was the corpse of Carlos 
Santander. 

“ Heaven forgive him, as I do,” were the words 
that passed from the lips of the young Irishman, as he 
spurred on after the carriage. 

The lieutenants of Santander’s escort had been 
permitted to remain without further molestation. 
The Free Lances had no antipathy against these men, 
who- were but acting in obedience to their duty."^ They 
could depart at their pleasure. 

But there was one not allowed to leave that 
court-yard alive. After the carriage had rolled 
out into the road the Texan giant stayed behind, 
still holding the Mexican dwarf, wffio shrank and 
shivered in his grasp. Those who stayed with 
him thought he intended taking him along as a 
prisoner. He had no such merciful intent, as his act 
testified. 


370 


THE RESCUE. 


It was a terrible act of retaliation — a crime under 
any circumstances. Even mad anger might not ex- 
cuse, nor the, bitterest provocation palliate it. But 
Cris Rock was a man whose rude border training 
had taught him to measure out justice by the simple 
standard of his own judgment, and by the same to 
administer it. He believed himself not only justi- 
fiable, but in duty bound, to cut off all cumberers of 
the ground, and that the death penalty was due to 
every one who was a foe to humanity. In this light 
he looked upon the deformed creature by his side — 
‘‘a curse to the airth/’ as he said, hissing the words 
through his teeth. 

And- apparently less from any prompting of 
revenge than to rid the earth of this curse, he caught 
the dwarf by the ankles, hoisted him into the air, 
swung him once or twice around his head, and then 
flung him down with a heavy crash upon the pave- 
ment, The wild shriek that pealed from the victim’s 
lips was stifled as his skull came in contact with the 
rim of the stone basin out of which the fountain bub- 
bled up, while his blood spouting forth became com- 
mingled with the water ! It was his life blood. Ere 


THE EESCUE. 


371 


the giant released his ankles from that strong, vise- 
like grasp the dwarf had ceased to exist. 

The two Mexican officers still inside the court-yard 
were spectators of the tragedy. Neither attempted to 
interfere, or made movement in any way. They stood 
aghast, paralyzed, horror-struck. 

The. Texan bent for a moment over the lifeless 
body, muttering, as he gave it a last glance : 

“ The world air well rid o’ you.” 

Then, with long but measured steps, he strode out 
through the open gateway, leaped upon the horse with 
which the Free Lances had provided him, and trotted 
off after the cortege, already somewhat advanced along 
the road to Xochemilco. Both it and he had now need 
to make haste, for the dragoons of the escort who took 
flight at the first attack, had already entered San 
Augustin, and warned the two squadrons there quar- 
tered. 

The bugles sounding the “assembly” could be 
heard by the Free Lances, braying in their rear, as 
they escorted the carriage along the Xochemilco road. 
But they were all well mounted, and felt no fear. 
And soon after the wheeled vehicle ceased to embar- 
rass them, as its brace of fine blooded horses were 


372 


THE RESCUE. 


detached from it, stripped of their harness, Saddled 
•and mounted by the two fair ladies who had been 
, hitherto its occupants. And then all — ladies and Free 
Lances — continued on at a brisk pace up the steep 
ravine road, and from that into another road, and 
another, away among the defiles of the mountains, 
where even during daylight Major Ramirez, and his 
cavalry would have been afraid to follow them. But 
as it was now night, the major, after a short, fruitless 
chase, halted his squadrons, and returned to his snug 
quarters in the town of San Augustin. 

^ :i« s!< ^ ^ 

When the news of this strange and tragical esca- 
pade reached the capital City of Mexico, its Dictator, 
Santa Anna, was savage almost to madness. Fresh 
troops were ordered out — whole regiments — with 
orders to capture, and if need be kill, the party of 
fugitives — women and men. But weeks passed and 
neither men nor women were captured, nor could word 
be obtained where they were, or whither they had gone. 
It was only surmised that they were hidden some- 
where among the mountains — but a poor guide to the 
discovery of any one in Mexico — w^hether a fugitive 
from justice or a refugee escaping from oppression. 




THE KESCUE. 

For a time the tyrant consoled himself by expend- 
ing a portion of his spleen upon Don Ignacio, inno- 
cent of all that had occurred. His estates were 
re-confiscated, and he himself was cast into prison. 

But both his property and liberty were soon after 
restored by a revolution that hurled Santa Anna from 
the dictatorial seat, and consigned him, as he had 
done others, to exile in a foreign land. 

Along with his estates Don Ignacio did not recover 
his daughter. She came back to him, it is true, but in 
the company of one who had the right ever after to 
call her his own, and by the sanction of the church ; 
for the priest promised in the epistle of Don Ruperto 
Rivas had been found among the mountains. He had 
done not only a double but triple marriage, for at the 
same ceremony Don Ruperto had espoused the daring 
Ysabel Almonte, who, after the new revolution, 
became mistress of the mansion of El Villor, with Don 
Ruperto once more its master, where Don Florencio 
Kearney and her fair cousin, his wife, were often after- 
wards their guests ; while the third couple who stood 
up before the priest were the faithful Jose and the 
pretty Pepita. 


874 


THE RESCUE. 


And after the new revolution the band of Free 
Lances were dissolved, no longer stigmatized under 
the reputation of robbers, but each becoming a patri- 
otic officer in the army of the new regime. 

Cris Rock remained for a time in Mexico, in the 
company of his old filibustering captain. But the 
Texan giant soon found the table valley of Tenoch- 
titlan too confined for him. He wanted once more to 
stretch his limbs upon a real “ puraira,” and to accom- 
plish this purpose he at length returned to Texas. But 
he did not stay long there. The American-Mexican 
war soon after broke out ; and along with Hays’ 
Rangers, Cris once more set foot upon the table land 
of Anahuac, and again sliook the hand of his old 
comrade of the “ Mier Expedition.” 

And what about another member of this expedi- 
tion, of whom we have not said one word — the brave 
Crittenden? -We have been silent about his deeds 
because, with the exception of that relating to the 
duel on the Shell Road, their chronicle lies apart from 
the details of this story. Yet were they deeds worth 
chronicling in the page of romance, and still more in 
that of real history. 


THE RESCUE. 


375 


Brave Crittenden of Kentucky ! Well do I re- 
member thee as one of the prisoners of that hopeless 
expedition from the time that your misfortunes began 
at Mier and ended in your confinement in a loathsome 
cell in the City of Mexico. And again do I remember 
you well, when, an officer of Mounted Rifles, you made 
triumphal entry, along with the rest of us, into that 
same capital where you had suffered insulting treat- 
ment. And well, too, I remember how modestly and 
forgivingly we both used to walk together along its 
streets, extending kindness where you at least had the 
right to kill. 

Happy for me, but, alas ! for you, I was not with 
you in th^t other fatal expedition — the last of your 
life — when, ever responsive to the call of Liberty, along 
with the gallant Lopez, you went to give it to the 
patriots of Cuba. 

You failed, then, and, in your failure, fell. But let 
your friends fear not that this, the grandest act of 
your life, is lost or its sacrifice forgotten. The time is 
fast approaching when that scene where you and your 
fellow-filibusters were compelled to kneel down on the 
flags of Havana and receive your death-shots from a 


376 


THE KESCUE. 


platoon of Spanish hireling soldiers, will be painted 
on canvas and blazoned on banners as one of the most 
cruel martyrdoms of history, as well as one of its 
proudest triumphs. 


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